A Deadly Spark
by Catching Fireflies
Summary: The last thing Spark Reviz of District 4 wants is to be drawn in the reaping of the 66th Hunger Games. She knows that the Capitol rigged the drawing because her parents were rebels. But sparks drown in a district filled with water, and a Career district to boot. Are the odds in her favor? Can she survive the Games even when the Capitol wants her dead? Can she survive as a rebel?
1. A Spark Drowned By Water

**Author's Note:**

**This is my first actual fanfic, so try not to judge me too badly.**

_A Sparked Drowned By Water_

__I awake to the darkness of my room, the salty, stale scent of dried seawater invading my nose. I try to roll over and fall back asleep, like I do on any other holiday, but then a lightning bolt seems to strike me out of bed. This is different. This is Panem's trademark. The Hunger Games. I leap up like I've been burned by my sheets. The day of the reaping. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the sixty-sixth Hunger Games begin," I mutter, stifling a yawn.

And then I remember the other reason why today is different. Today, exactly seven years ago, when I was nothing but a ten-year-old at the reaping, standing with my grandmother, I received the awful news that my parents had been shot and killed by the Capitol. They were rebels, both of them, and named me Spark. "The spark of rebellion," my mother used to say, tucking a loose strand of my light brown hair behind my ear.

But now they're gone. I only got to keep my name because of the Capitol. "Why should a spark be a problem, in District Four?" asked President Snow, when the issue of my secretly 'rebellious' name was brought up. "She's surrounded by water. We can drown any rebellion." I was supposed to pretend that I didn't hear the last part, but it registered as Snow muttered it under his breath. "Or we can drown her, if she gets out of hand."

I can't let anyone drown me. I vowed that to myself the first day that my grandmother took me in, as my guardian appointed by the Capitol, since the rest of my relatives are rebels. Or, they were, until the Capitol executed them for treason against Panem. I stare into the cracked mirror on my wall. My pale blue eyes stare back at me, disturbingly light against my tan skin. My light brown hair is choppy and hanging short above my shoulders. Spark. I should have been named something darker, since the Career tributes regularly call me Sparky, because I'm not a Career like them, even though I train regularly for the Hunger Games. I would be a Career, but I hate the Capitol.

It's only dawn, so I manage to slip down the creaking stairs, past my grandmother, who is sprawled out in an armchair and fast asleep. I've been watching reaping preparations since I was twelve. Now that I'm seventeen, I've gain a few tactics. I pick up a chunk of driftwood from the street and throw it hard at a window across the Square to divert the Peacekeepers' attention. Sure enough, the ten white-clad figures whip around to find the source of the noise of shattering glass, and I bolt behind them, my bare feet silent on the brick street.

The stage is empty, and the tributes' escort, Miranda Sanrough, is nowhere to be seen, so I mount the steps while the Peacekeepers investigate the broken window. My hand dips into the female's reaping ball, and I pull out three slips. Then my mouth drops open as I read the first one, unfolding it so quickly that my fingers almost tear it, and only the years of tying knots keep me from ripping it in half.

The name is mine. Spark Reviz.

I have no tessera, none. I have my name in the reaping ball six times. What are the odds of that? I drop the paper back in, burying it to the bottom of the thousands of slips. Then I read fistfuls of paper, and they all read the same thing, even when I am far past six slips. I stop counting when I reach somewhere around twenty. The slips read the same thing every time.

_Spark Reviz... Spark Reviz... Spark Reviz..._

I take a deep breath, running back down the steps. I have to get home, to my grandmother's house. My feet fly as I run past the Peacekeepers again. I unlock the back door of my house, shoving the key back into my pants pocket, crashing up the stairs, and I flop over on my bed, my face buried in the pillow. The musty scent of sweat and salt wafts into my nose as I think.

The Capitol did this. They rigged the drawing so I would be chosen. I try to calm my breathing, pulling the sheet back up over my head, suffocating. They did this. And there is only one reason- my parents. The Capitol needs to eliminate any possible rebels. And since I am a rebel myself, apparently, and am the daughter of rebels, they want to make me a contestant in the Hunger Games. A tribute to the Capitol. I imagine a victory feast for another tribute, one where every citizen of the Capitol drinks my blood from wineglasses and roasts my flesh and seasons it with herbs and spices... because the Capitol has been wanting me dead since the deaths of my parents. So, now that I am far too old to be considered a little girl anymore, they can kill me and act like I am just another unfortunate tribute.

I groan into my pillow as I hear my grandmother's raspy voice. "Spark?" she calls up the stairs, sounding like a piece of metal that has rusted in the rain. "Are you all right?" I hear her as she painstakingly navigates the staircase. With her old age, I'm glad I am young and strong. I am needed more every day. "We need to get you dressed up nice for the reaping, Spark."

I roll over to see her standing over my bed. With a sigh, I stand up, feeling heavy and slow. "I'm fine," I say. She nods and smiles, showing gaps between her teeth. She walks slowly down the stairs as I sit down in the kitchen at the small table. I barely pick at the fish that my grandmother set out for me. My stomach is in knots. I can't eat much, because I know that I will be reaped, no matter what. That I will be a tribute, and that from now on, I have to be not just a tribute, but also a possible victor.

Before my grandmother has a chance to ask what's bothering me, I speak quickly. "Look, Gran, you know that the Capitol wants me dead," I say quietly. Her blue eyes widen. She's so old that I sarcastically asked her one day if she remembered the Dark Days and the foundation of the Hunger Games. "You know that I check the girls' reaping slips on reaping day, right?" She nods. I sigh, about to speak the most difficult part of my story. "Those... those damn Capitol bastards rigged the reaping!" I burst out. My grandmother has never criticized my rude language. "Every girl's slip says my name. Spark Reviz. Spark Reviz." I take a deep breath. "So... don't expect me to make it out of the reaping unless it's by train to the Capitol."

Gran sighs. "Spark," she says gently, her withered hand touching my face. I jerk away, raising my hand to slap her, but then I remember exactly who I'm talking to and lower my arm. "This is a Career district. There ought to be a volunteer."

"No, there won't," I snap rudely, staring at the floor and scuffing my heel against the floor. "The Careers hate me. You know that. They call me Sparky and think that I'm a rebel. And you know that they're practically polishing the Capitol's floors for them, the Careers love President Snow so much. They - hate - me." I shiver, despite the warm sea air, when I picture who my male partner could be. "And they have a reason to hate me."

Gran sighs again, louder this time, shoving my plate toward me. "Eat," she says. "You need to keep up your strength. And don't try denying that you're strong. I've never seen anyone stronger, except maybe a few Careers." I scowl across the table at her as she pulls up a chair, and she laughs, almost sounding like a little girl. I eat with my fingers as usual, picking out the fish bones and eating the flesh. It isn't very filling, but Gran's right that I need to keep my strength up. "Spark, you know that you'd be the victor."

"The Gamemakers would have it out for me the minute I step into the arena," I say tonelessly, tossing the fish bones left over from my breakfast out the window for the birds to pick at. I set the chipped plate in the washing bucket and start to walk up the stairs, but Gran stops me.

"If you're going to be a tribute, at least look nice for the reaping," she says. I twist my face up in a scowl again, and she grins, reminding me again of a mischievous young girl. "Oh, come on." After minutes of me complaining and her picking out a dress for me and doing my hair, I stand looking in the mirror again, an expression of disbelief reflected on my face. My hair is brushed smooth and perfect, in a simple braid down my back, and I am wearing a short, strapless, light-blue dress that brings out the colors in my eyes. It is cut very low in the front, showing off my bare arms and half of my chest, and the dress comes down to halfway between my hips and knees. I look... strong. Strong, a bit sexy even, poised to kill.

"I look like a slut," I say, but I'm laughing despite myself. I have never thought of myself as pretty or ugly, just strong. But the muscles in my body actually make me look beautiful, though a bit slutty, like I said. But Gran only smiles at me, tears in her eyes.

"You'll always make me proud, Spark," she says, tucking a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. Just like my mother did. I blink away the tears in my eyes. "And you're beautiful. Who says rebellion can't be beautiful?" My father would always call me his beautiful little girl. "How's my beautiful?" he'd ask, when I was a small child. I would squeal in happiness and let him hug me. Then he'd kiss my mother and say, "Of course, I've got my other beautiful here, too." I bite my lip. I can't cry now, not when I look so beautiful and feel so strange inside.

The clock tower in the Square is chiming nine in the morning, the time of District 4's reaping. Gran and I walk out to the square, her in an old gray dress with a lacy white collar. We separate when I have to go off with the other seventeen-year-olds. Immediately, I am noticed. Usually, I can manage to blend into the crowd, but when I am around Career tributes and dressed provocatively on reaping days, I am noticed easily.

"Hey," someone says, a Career. "It's Sparky. Look at sexy Sparky." He whistles under his breath, and a Career girl giggles stupidly from behind him. "Look at Sexy -I mean Sparky." By now, a crowd of Careers has grown around me. Some are laughing. I glare at them. "Hey, Sparky, after the reaping, want to meet me in the alley behind the Justice Building? It's pretty dark back there." He grins. I'm silently fuming, trying to think of a response, when Miranda Sanrough climbs the steps of the stage.

She's wearing bright yellow, with six-inch high heels to match, along with neon green makeup that makes her look like she's been rolling around in florescent grass. "Welcome!" she trills happily. "I'm so happy to be here in this beautiful sea district!" She gestures to someone sitting in a chair next to her, and my heart skips a beat, and I know what she'll say even before she speaks. "This is Finnick Odair, one of our mentors. The newest victor, but who says we can't have two District Four victors in consecutive years!" she chirps optimistically. Finnick is younger than me, only fifteen, his first year of mentoring. He has beautiful green eyes that entrap me instantly, and deeply tanned bronze skin. "And Mags, our other mentor!" Mags is old and withered, like Gran. She looks almost shriveled, covered in wrinkles and using a cane.

"Now..." Miranda Sanrough says ecstatically, almost hysterically elated. "Now, it's time to read the _Treaty of Treason_!" She grins, like this is the big event of the day. I almost yawn loudly, but then I catch myself. After that, it will be the time for the tributes to be drawn. And I will be in front of the nation without doubt.

Mayor Samuelson begins to rattle off the Treaty of Treason, which I find boring. I close my eyes, listening to the familiar words being read off the official document. As the treaty reaches the end of the gruesome account and official words, I open my eyes again, taking a deep breath. I wipe my sweaty palms on my dress, trying not to look worthy of the mocking nickname Sexy Sparky that the Careers have given me. No, I just want to be strong, not beautiful, although that could be an advantage when I am trying to get sponsors in the preparation for the Games.

Miranda expertly maneuvers on her high heels over to the glass reaping balls. "Now that that's over with," she sings out musically as a bird, "time to draw... our _female_ tribute!"

_Let me die now,_ I think. _Damn it, I have to be a tribute. The Capitol rigged this... I'm going to die..._ But then the thought hits me, as I sink into despair, as Miranda Sanrough fishes around dramatically in the girls' reaping ball with her heavily ringed fingers.

If I'm such a rebel, why don't I die as a rebel? I'll die anyway. So why not die knowing that I might make an impact on my nation?

Just as I think this, I look up at the stage to hear my name ring out through the salty District 4 air.

"Spark Reviz!"


	2. Far From Shore

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry for the bad first chapter. I hope you think this one is better. Please, review! Tell me what you think!**

_Far From Shore_

I try to stay calm, acting like a normal girl from District 4 who didn't expect to be called. I know that I'm glaring at the crowd by the way people flinch when they stare at me, by the way they look the other direction when they see my eyes. Miranda Sanrough is beckoning me up to the stage, acting like this is perfectly natural. Only, it isn't. Because she has never looked this tense at a reaping. I walk up the steps and stand on the stage, staring out across the faces of District 4.

I'm expecting Miranda to ask for any volunteers as she usually does, but there is something that gives it all away. She just grins out at the crowd, like there is no such thing as volunteering. There are Career tribute girls shrieking at her, "I volunteer as tribute!" But she ignores every one of them, and goes on like this is normal.

"Well, well!" she says, as if this is the most beautiful statement in the history of the Hunger Games. She beams winningly at the scowling, cursing, or whispering crowd. "Let's all give a round of applause to our new tribute, District Four... Spark Reviz!" She claps so fast that her hands blur, still baring those artificially white teeth in a smile. "Go on now, isn't she beautiful in that lovely dress of hers?"

The crowd is dead silent for a second. Then some of the adults clap, although very half-heartedly. Like they actually feel sorry for me. But everyone in District 4 and the Capitol, and many more in Panem, know that I am the daughter of rebels and a rebel myself. The older adults whisper about rebellion and the Capitol among each other in hushed voices. The Career tributes start up a mocking and envious chant of, "Sexy Spar-_ky_! Sexy Spar-_ky_!" that quickly dies down when no one joins in.

My eyes find the crew of the fishing boat that I work on. Mostly men, a couple of women, all barely over reaping age. In fact, I am -no, was- the only worker under nineteen. They knew me, barely, but no one knows me but them and Gran. They never acknowledge me after our fishing shift on the boat, which lasts from sunrise to sunset in almost any weather. Except... there is one time when we all have a sense that we are connected. When we are heading back to shore and singing a traditional song of District 4 that has been around since the Dark Days.

Sure enough, but to my surprise, I hear the song. One voice becomes two, and then more and more until almost the whole district is singing. Most children learn the song when they are around four years old. It is traditional, symbolizing District 4's fishing industry and the workers. The words are a bit cryptic, but they are about a man at sea returning to his lover after a long day of working. The notes to the song are repeated the whole time, almost never changing, but it's beautiful, and as we get closer to shore, we repeat the whole song louder and louder on our way home. Most every day, even in the rain, lovers or wives of the boat workers come out, hearing the song, and sometimes the women embrace their men and smile. Sometimes the district citizens sing along. It makes happiness out of a gray sky.

But not now. Now, every word breaks my heart, because I know that I will never sing it with my district again.

"Bravo, bravo!" cheers Miranda Sanrough happily, loving the moment. I'm sure that she thinks it would be good camera footage, the district serenading a tribute. But she knows that I am a rebel. The district serenading a rebel could result in horrible things. "But onto things, now! Got to stick to the schedule!" She points at a slim, green watch around her wrist, tapping it in a punctual manner. "Now, for our male tribute!"

She totters on her high heels over to the boys' reaping ball, fishing around in it. The crowd is silent, listening for the dreaded name. She pulls out a slip and reads the name clearly.

"Thor Crethil!" she squeals happily, waving the slip like a banner. "Come on up, Thor!"

I groan inwardly as I see a very muscular Career tribute boy walk up to the stage. Several people look like they're about to volunteer, then say something about Thor deserving 'the honor' more than them. I recognize Thor's dark brown hair and deeply tanned skin, the latter of which is a trademark of District 4's boat workers and fishermen.

The district applauds regularly, and the Careers scream their appreciation and whistle until Miranda's glaring at them as well as a five-foot-tall Capitol women wearing neon green makeup and six-inch heels can. "All right! This concludes our District Four reaping!" she says happily. Out of the corner of her mouth, she whispers to Thor and I: "Shake hands, tributes."

I want so badly to break every bone in Thor's hand, but I restrain myself. Better save that for later. His strong hand clenches around mine, and I shake it dully, trying not to touch him more than absolutely needed.

The Peacekeepers lead us off the stage as the crowd trickles away back to their safe homes. They lead us into the Justice Building, into rooms that look so luxurious that I barely can stop staring at the soft carpet and the lush fabric of the curtains. But I just want to be in the old house that I call home, with Gran and in my room. I want to fall asleep and wake up somewhere else, where there are streams full of pure water and trees that grow endless food and money. I use to fantasize about that when I was young. But now I'm older, and I know that there is nothing. Nothing but Panem and the Hunger Games and President Snow's power.

"This is your time to say goodbye to family and friends," a Peacekeeper barks in my ear. Then, before I have a chance to snap back at him, he shuts me in one of the beautiful rooms. The windows are perfectly polished glass, not just holes in the wooden walls like at home. I sit down on a comfortable armchair, but I feel like I can't touch anything. It's too perfect for me, the rebels' daughter. The boat worker. The girl from the poorest part of District 4 who lives with her grandmother. Sexy Sparky, as I am to the Careers.

The heavy wooden door opens without a creak at all. Gran hobbles into the room. "I knew you'd be right, Spark," she says softly, rewarding me with an embrace. I breathe in, trying hard not to cry. "Look, Spark, you can make it." I start to protest, saying things about the Gamemakers having it out for me, but she stops me. "You're strong. You're fast. And as far as I can see, President Snow hasn't drowned you yet." I manage to smile.

Gran presses something into my hand. "You need a district token," she says in her frail voice. I look down and see what she has given me. I examine it closely. A necklace, on a thick silver chain. There is a fairly flat seashell strung on the chain, with a hole to let the chain through. I undo the clasp and fasten it around my neck, a lump in my throat.

"Thanks," I whisper.

Gran smiles and kisses my cheek. "Spark, I'll be watching every moment of the Games for you," she says. "The Opening Ceremonies, the interviews..."

"The arena," I mutter downheartedly. "You'll be watching that, too. Me dying when the Gamemakers send their fucking mutts after me. Or when a Career slits my throat." Then I look up from the floor to her eyes. "I'm not going to let them kill me before I die, though," I say. "The Capitol. I'm not going to let them get me." I pause. "But I'll get them. I know that I'll get them."

Gran smiles shakily. "Don't be afraid of anything," she says. She points one gnarled finger at my necklace. "This was your mother's," she says. "Your father gave it to her. She always used to say that it was good luck. My beautiful daughter, shot through the head by a Capitol firing squad." She sighs, smiling wistfully. "She would have loved the way that the district sang that song. But you know, the song is about two separate things." She looks into my eyes. Hers are the blue that dulled down into almost gray with the generations that passed. "It's about a man coming home from a day's work on the fishing boat to someone he loves, yes. But it's also about a victor. A victor who is coming back to District Four to someone they have missed." She kisses my cheek quickly again as she hears the Peacekeepers' boots on the carpeted hallway, coming to the room. "So find someone to miss. Just not a tribute. You know that there's one victor only. Find something. And survive. Come back." She starts humming the song under her breath.

And when the Peacekeepers take her away, she whispers, "May the odds be ever in your favor, Spark."

As time passes, I begin to doubt the possibility of others coming to visit me before I am sent off to die. I fall into a sort of trance. Thinking about death -endless nothing- makes my stomach feel hollow. So I try to dream of a sunny day on the fishing boat. Where seabirds swoop around us, adding their shrieking calls to our song. Where we are turning to the shore. Where every person is singing. I sing now quietly. "Here we are again..." I get out, and then the lump in my throat grows, and I can only hum.

Then I stand up again and walk closer to the door. I hear it. I hear the song being sung. Continued in a hearty voice, a man's voice. Singing as he walks down the hall to my room. "Here we are again," he sings in his rich, beautiful voice. "Death is not far again..." Then I hear a Peacekeeper saying something full of cursing to him, and he stops singing.

The door swings open, and a fisherman walks in. I remember his name. Jake Paylor. The one who always complains about fishing, claiming that he's from District 8. Hard to believe, with those deep brown eyes of his, and the dark tan skin, and the dark hair. District 8's people are never tan, since they work in the textile factories. Jake Paylor's handsome, I'll give him that, and I love his voice when he sings the fishing song, which he claims is called 'Here We Are'. The title makes sense, especially since all of the females on the boat are entranced by his singing.

"Hey, Spark," he says, embracing me. I let him. Even though he's twenty or so, out of the reaping, and safe here in 4, I feel happier, knowing that someone cares about me enough to come. Then he smiles, showing a mouthful of even, white teeth. "I started the song, you know that?" he says teasingly. "I couldn't just stand there and watch you look at me like that. You look beautiful in that dress." His tone becomes serious. "I know that this isn't right," he says quietly, barely audible. "They rigged it. But you know that. I've seen you distracting the Peacekeepers and looking at the names in the reaping ball."

"Yeah," I mutter. His eyes are making me want to say more. They are so dark that they appear black.

"I'm a rebel, too," he whispers in my ear. My whole body tenses. A rebel? How could Jake Paylor be a rebel? He seems just like the average fisherman, except for his distaste of seafood and occasional far-fetched tales. "And yes, I'm from District Eight. At least, I was born there. My parents were rebels. They dumped me on the doorstep of the Justice Building when I was barely a year old and then went and drowned themselves in the sea." I wince at the gruesome story. I wasn't expecting that last part. "Luckily for me, a woman saw me and took me in before the mayor found me instead. She looked enough like me to say that she was my mother. I knew my name, though. Even back in Eight, I was Jake Paylor, and that was my real name. But only to my parents. I had another name then, I heard, a fake one."

"Why didn't they rig it for you?" I ask as he straightens my necklace. "Did they ever figure out?"

Jake shakes his head. "Oh, Spark, you know I never mentioned District Eight except on the boat when I'd had to much to drink," he says lightly. "And that was when all the fishers were saying stupid things. The usual. 'Oh, I met the President of Panem one day when he took a boat ride'... 'My daughter's mother was from the Capitol'... you know the type." He turns serious again, his eyes darkening.

"Look, Spark, I came because I want to tell you to make it back here, okay?" he says. I nod wordlessly. "Like the song. 'Darling, we'll meet again...'" he sings. I grin. "But, Spark, please." There's a rebellious gleam in his eyes. "You'd better stir up some rebellion before you go into the arena. Just in case."

The Peacekeepers come in. "Reviz, your time's up," he growls to me. "Paylor, out. Go back home."

He nods, squeezing my hand. "All right," he says to the Peacekeeper. To me, he says, "Like the song. You might have someone you love to come back to, Spark."

Jake Paylor's final gift to me is a kiss. It lasts barely a second, but it's enough to make the cold in me warmed by happiness.

And as I am led to the platform, onto the train, and as the doors shut ominously, I squeeze my necklace and stare out the window while the ocean whirls away into a line on the horizon, then nothing at all.


	3. Farther From Four

**Author's Note:**

**Believe me, this story gets better! (I've thought up the arena -and I feel like a Gamemaker- and it will blow your mind!) Please review! I'm not trying to beg, but I really want to know what readers think of my story. And I'm aware that this chapter title is similar to the last one. So, onto Chapter Three.**

_Farther From Four_

I stare out the window even after I can't see the water of the ocean. Gran's safe at home. My crew from the fishing boat is safe in their homes. And Jake Paylor's probably already forgotten that I am more than a tribute. That they rigged it for me. I stare out until District 4 is gone, and I am moving farther away from it with every second I spend on this damn Capitol train.

I feel Miranda Sanrough tapping me on the shoulder after a bit. "Dear?" she asks in a falsely kind voice. Dear? Her Capitol is the one that got me in here. "It's time to eat."

Annoyed, I sit down in one of the intricately carved wooden chairs, the legs scraping across the floor. The others -Miranda, Finnick, Mags, and Thor, my fellow tribute- sit around the table. Avoxes clad in perfectly ironed tunics offer us food silently. I know that I shouldn't be gladly shoveling down Capitol food, because who knows what they might put in it for me, but my defenses crumble when I see the bowl of puffy rolls. The fruits that are uncommon in District 4 sprinkled with sugar on a platter. My eyes widen when I see the meat, and my mouth is watering. The only meat I have ever had is fish. I serve myself, piling a plate full of buttery rolls, sliced fruits, rice, and a huge slice of the meat. Then I pile everything I can see on the plate. An Avox pours me a bowl of soup. I think I'm drooling. Being as poor as I am means that this would be impossible back home. If I'm going to die, why not enjoy myself while I'm at it?

Mags is unimpressed by the food, after years and years of mentoring. Finnick is eating sensibly, also. Thor's plate is even more piled up than mine, and he's wolfing down the food. Miranda Sanrough is eating daintily, true to the Capitol, and wiping her fingers on a still-pristine napkin. "Don't eat too much," she warns, giggling at our poverty-stricken images.

I shoot her an evil look and start in on my food. I stuff an entire roll in my mouth as Miranda asks, "So, have you met your mentors before?" to Thor and I.

"Everyone knows 'em," I mutter through the roll, still chewing. A bit of my saliva spurts out of my mouth as I speak and lands on the rich red velvet tablecloth.

Miranda has a fit. "Oh- oh _my_!" she wails, leaping up out of her chair, somehow managing to stay standing up on those high heels. She busily wipes up the spit from the table. Thor, who has surfaced from his bowl of beef stew, is snickering. Finnick is grinning. Even little old Mags is laughing, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. I swallow my roll, almost choking. "Spark!" she cries. "That is- it's so- _barbaric_!"

I shrug. "Barbaric?" I ask. To prove my point, I get out my knife and toss it in the air leisurely, tipping back my chair and putting my feet on the table, moving my plates of food aside with a nudge. "What's that supposed to mean? Just because I'm poor doesn't mean I'm-" I grab her wineglass with a bit of effort and drain the whole thing. The spirits swirl in my mouth, and I like the taste of her wine. "-_barbaric_."

Finnick snorts with laughter. Mags excuses herself, hobbling away with her cane, and I hear her in the restrooms in fits of giggles. Thor has stopped eating almost quizzically, seeing my feet in his face. I sigh. "Oh, fine, I guess that's rude or something," I say. I do pretty much anything at the table at home, so what should it matter? It was especially fun at home when I sneaked to the black market and bought myself some liquor to share with Gran for a special feast to celebrate not getting drawn in the reaping... The memories stab at me, but I try to concentrate. I put my feet back on the floor.

"What're these for?" I ask, motioning toward the metal things next to my array of food-piled plates. "These weapons or something?" I pick one up and examine it. Finnick loses it laughing, smiling at me. If I were a couple years younger, and if there were no Jake Paylor back in District 4, I would be staring at him, probably drooling like I do with the food. I throw the metal things over my shoulder, and they hit the wall. "Oh, what the hell."

I dig into my food, shoveling the rice into my mouth with my bare hands, barely bothering to chew. It tastes like nothing I've eaten before. I wipe my hands on the tablecloth, smearing the buttery sauce on the velvet. Miranda's mouth becomes a straight line when she purses her lips, which are laden with smeared green lipstick. Then I tear off chunks of meat with my teeth, chewing rapidly. My stomach's already full, and I think the dress feels tighter around my middle. Then I eat everything on my plates, leaning down and slurping up the soup like a thirsty dog and scooping the meat and vegetables out afterward with my fingers.

After a bit, all that's left on my plates is bones from the various meat and crumbs, and between the food and the fast motion of the train, I become increasingly nauseated.

Then there's the dessert course, and I still have the Avoxes cut me a slice of every pie or cake. I eat something cold called ice cream, and it's delicious. I could sit here and eat chocolate forever. Well, forever's getting shorter, because I feel a bit sick to my stomach from the food. Then the Avoxes serve us bottles and bottles of spirits. I take a swig from every one. I take a bottle of the strongest kind and drink the entire thing. Wow, they don't make this stuff in District 4. I grin at Mags, who has returned to carefully eat a small slice of pie.

"Hey, Finnick," I say. My voice is a bit slurred. I raise my bottle up in the air. "To District Four?"

Finnick's drinking water. Crazy. Doesn't he want to make it all go away? Or maybe he hasn't realized that mentoring a tribute like me will be a pain in the ass. He raises his water glass. "To District Four!" all of us bellow out. True, Mags looks a bit disapproving. And it is a bit of a stretch to say that it's all of us, since Miranda is looking on with pressed-together lips. Thor shouts the toast out so loud that my ears ring. I roar it at the top the lungs. It's so fun to stop worrying about the arena.

I frown. "Hey, M'randa," I slur drunkenly. My stomach hurts. In fact, I feel like I'm going to be sick. "I'm gonna just go to the-" Finnick stands up abruptly and starts pulling me down the hallway. I feel too tired to protest much. "Finnick, I don't feel good," I whine as he hauls me down the hall.

"I know," he says with a sigh. "Believe me, I got drunk last year when I was a tribute, and ate way too much of this damn Capitol food. But you're making me look sober." He opens the door to the women's restrooms. "Here, go in here," he says. "I'd take you to your room now, but you'd probably throw up on the carpet, and Miranda would have another panic attack over you." I stand there uncomprehendingly. Finnick groans. "Go in, Not-So-Sexy Sparky," he says, annoyed.

I try to answer, but then I'm retching all over the clean tiles. Finnick swears rudely at me and drags me into the bathroom, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, "If someone catches me in the women's restroom, it'd be all over the Capitol. I'm famous, you know." He drags my vomiting, miserable body into a stall and holds my head over the toilet as I lose all the Capitol food and the liquor. I'm shaking, trembling, sweating.

After a while, I'm done. Finnick sighs, dragging me down the halls again. He lies me down in my bed, in a room that he says is mine. I stare up at the ceiling. "Look, Reviz, you'd better sleep this off," he says, pausing at the threshold. "The Capitol hates you. And you've got the Capitol to look forward to tomorrow." Then he slams the door shut, and I think I fall asleep.

I wake up to a pounding headache and to the sunrise. Apparently, I slept some of yesterday away, and last night. I stagger out of bed. I've slept in my blue dress and shoes. It takes me a moment to remember that I'm not in District 4 anymore, that I'm on a train to the Capitol and hungover. I groan and look in the bathroom mirror. My braid is rumpled and frizzy, so I undo the tie and let my hair flow loose. I strip quickly and step into the shower, experimentally pressing buttons. After a few minutes, I step out, feeling refreshed, but the water was freezing on my skin, and I smell like lemons. But my hair's straight and smooth, and I am cleaner than I have been for a while, though I'm still filthy by Capitol standards. I tie my hair back and open up the closet in my room, wrapped in a towel and wearing nothing but my undergarments. I finally find the perfect outfit- all black. Black boots, tight black pants, a black shirt, a black jacket. There. Maybe now I can face the others.

I somehow remember where we ate yesterday, and I orient myself and go there. Everyone's there but Finnick and Miranda, which leaves Thor and Mags. I sit down. As soon as I am seated, Avoxes offer me food. I decide not to eat quite so much, and fill up a plate of rolls and sausages.

I feel Mags tap me on the shoulder. She stands up with a lot of effort and grasps my hand in hers. She's even more withered than Gran. "Spark," she says. "Your mentor's still asleep." Then she picks up one of the metal weapon things, which seem to have magically appeared next to my plate again. She slides one between my fingers. "This is silverware." She's trying not to laugh. She guides my hand. "Don't stab like a knife." She demonstrates how to use the silverware. "I'm only doing this for your own good. Miranda would have my hide if she knew that you really didn't know what silverware was."

I sigh and grudgingly eat with the silverware. Mags advises me to wipe my hands on the napkin, and not the tablecloth. I wipe the sausage grease on my cloth napkin, feeling like a dainty Capitol girl. I'm already turning into someone else, and I've barely been a tribute for a day.

"Hey," mutters Thor through a mouthful of food. He's eating an entire bowl of rolls. Stupid Career tribute boy. He swallows. "You all right, Reviz? You look pretty bad." I scowl defensively. He continues. "Not that way. I mean, you really got yourself drunk yesterday at lunch." He grins. "You looked fucking stupid, Reviz."

Miranda would probably have a heart attack to hear Thor talk like that. But Mags just smiles. I, however, am furious. "God damn it, Thor!" I spit, standing up. I'd call him by his surname, but I forget it. "Shut the fuck up! Damn Career tribute bastard! You eat like a pig, why's drinking so bad to you?"

This time, Mags intervenes. "Calm down, both of you," she says, holding up her hands. Then she stands up. "Oh, you two, look out the windows! We're at the Capitol!" She smiles and walks slowly to a window. I leap up, wanting a glimpse of the hated city. It's like Mags has just said that we've reached hell. I guess to the Capitol, that's where I came from. I glance out the window, and my jaw drops.

Skyscrapers. Glittering skyscrapers that seem to literally scrape the sky. The streets flash past as I stare. Then come the crowds of the inhuman monsters that are the Capitol's citizens. All of them are wearing hideously eccentric clothing. Many have so much makeup on that I can hardly see their real faces. And all of them seem to have surgery, disgusting surgery. Skin dyed electric orange, gems lining the eyes, enhanced features, and so many other things fly past that I feel nauseated. How can they do this for fun, having surgery that makes them look horrifyingly inhuman? They look like they come from a different world. A world where food is everywhere and no one starves. Where everything is vivid, bright colors. Where the buildings glitter like a thousand diamonds.

"That's... amazing," says Thor in a voice low with awe. "I've heard things, but seeing it is so much more than television broadcasts."

I just stare. The crowds shriek when they see the tributes coming. But some whisper nervously when they see me. I'm tempted to do something that could give me a lasting impression on the Capitol forever. But I have to bide my time for the right moment. I wish that Snow were as fragile as these people.

But then I remember. All you need for a fire is a spark. And fire melts snow until it is water.


	4. Glitter and Chariots

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry that it's been a few days since I've posted a new chapter. Today (Saturday) was my town's Earth Day clean up and I got liquefied dead dog and liquefied dog crap all over my shoe, and I scrubbed my poor foot about a thousand times and I STILL STINK! My sister is calling me Carcass Queen. It sucks. Anyway, there you have my really bad explanation for the delay. I can't believe I've gotten to the Opening Ceremonies so quickly! Plus, this is a nice, long chapter. I hope you like it! Please review and tell me what you think so far. It's not that I just want to feel famous or anything or liked, I just want to know what I can improve or what people think. There's always things to improve. especially when you're me, and I want this fanfic to be as good as possible! So please, point them out if you don't like my writing style or something. Enjoy!**

_Glitter and Chariots_

"Ahh!" I yelp in pain as my prep team pulls every strand of hair from my legs. "Ahh! Go to hell!"

The male in the group of three -I know the womens' names, but not his- scowls. "Excuse me?" he asks in his accent that I curse with every syllable, every letter. "What was that again? I must have heard you wrong." Before I can answer, I'm shoved to my feet. "There, we're almost done!" he trills encouragingly. "Let's just see if we need to pull out some more hair, okay, miss?"

It's very much not okay, considering that I'm stark naked and a lot of the nation -damn those Careers at the reaping- knows me as Sexy Sparky. But I have no choice. They probe every inch of my body, shrieking like they've been shot whenever they find an imperfection. "Oh, your _eyes_! They're so bloodshot! Spark, dear, have you been-" a horrified gasp comes out of one of the women's mouths "-drinking?" "Oh, no, your hair is a mess! Really, we can't have that!"

When they're done with the insults to my body, they start complimenting me. Strangely, they sound sincere. "You really do have good skin!" squeals Isabella Marie, who is wearing a neon orange dress with metallic gold tattoos to 'match'. Her shockingly yellow hair clashes with the outfit and is obviously dyed or a wig. She runs her perfectly manicured fingers down my arm. It takes everything I've got to hold off from slapping her and yelling. "It's so... tanned! And not sunburned." She shudders in horror. "Remember the girl from last year? Burned red as a strawberry. But Finnick!" They all sigh dreamily. "He was every prep team's envy! He's gorgeous! A natural miracle of beauty!" Isabella Marie giggles, sounding like a songbird on drugs. "He had _such_ a nice body," she says, giggling devilishly.

"Didn't you notice?" says the male, whose name I still don't know. "Spark's got a nice body, too." He reaches out to touch my, probably to feel my supposedly nice body. For a second, I feel those Capitol hands on me, running down my my neck, down my chest, to my stomach, on my arms... His eyes are hungry, and he licks his lips with implications. Pulling me onto the table that they prepped me on with strength that I didn't know could come from a Capitol man. He touches my lips with his fingers, as a warning. _Be quiet._ Then I can't take it. It's like Snow himself is stroking me.

I leap up abruptly and shove him away into the wall. He shrieks in pain, and Isabella Marie and Opal, the other woman, cry out with shock. "Get away from me!" I yell, fury running through me. I don't care if I'm stark naked in this tiny room with nowhere to run. "Don't say that! Do you _hear_ me? _Don't - say - that!_" I'm screaming so loud that I think I feel the floor vibrating. My eyes dart around the room to find some kind of weapon, but even the razors are in locked drawers. Then I see the leftover, empty plates that the prep team ate from for what they called 'brunch'. It's still before noon, so what's the point of that? I see my only chance. A butter knife, the blade slick with melted butter.

I lunge for the table and grab the knife. Before I know it, I've got the knife by Isabella Marie's face. She squeaks in terror. It's just a butter knife, but even a Capitol woman that stupid should know that, if I stabbed her in the eye, it would be extremely painful. "If you say anything more..." I pant, breathing hard with anger, "... if you think you can just touch me all you want..." I bring the knife right between her eyes. "... and if him over there thinks he can get away with raping a tribute..." She's going cross-eyed from looking at the blade. "... then I've got plenty of places to stick this thing. Even if it isn't sharp, I think I heard that dull knives are worse, actually."_  
_

Opal is running around in circles like an overexcited dog. At least she isn't a real dog, or I would have gotten bitten by now. Or, on second thoughts, she'd be one of those worthless pets in the Capitol, the dogs that do nothing but shit and piss and yip in your ears. "Oh, no!" she wails. "Peacekeepers! We need Peacekeepers!" Actually, I'm having third thoughts. Of course she's a dog. She's a bitch, after all. "Peeeeaaacekeeeeeeeeeperrrsss!" She hisses on the letter _s, _like everyone in the Capitol.

Very punctually, a squad of Peacekeepers burst into the room. Shocked, to see three Capitol citizens taken down by a naked seventeen-year-old female tribute. In other words, taken down by me. Instead of giving up, I stab at Opal's face as she runs by. Unfortunately, I miss. But I open a gash in her neck that's good-sized for a butter knife being the weapon. Blood trickles down her neck. I rip the butter knife from her throat.

A Peacekeeper pulls me away from her. I start screaming what is a beautiful array of swearing, if I do say so myself. "Take her to Snow!" shouts a Peacekeeper over my yelling. "That little brat's gotten away with being alive for seventeen years, so we should just shake her up a bit!"

"No!" calls another Peacekeeper. "We should just take her to her stylist and punish her after the ceremonies. If we took her to Snow and gave her stylist less time to get her ready, the nation'll be wondering! We wouldn't be shaking her up then, we'd be starting rebellions in the districts if a tribute was missing from the Opening Ceremonies!" Obviously, this one has more authority.

The Peacekeeper dragging me down the hall looks at me. "After the Opening Ceremonies, you'll be summoned to President Snow's mansion. This kind of thing doesn't go unpunished. We demand..." He looks down into my eyes cruelly. "Justice. For rebels and criminals. Putting them in their proper place, to use my term for it."

"I was almost raped!" I yell in his face. "Look at me, I can't be much more vulnerable, can I? In your motherfucking city with President Shit -I mean, _Snow- _and you think that I can just let them do that? Unless my proper place is getting raped in your own precious city!" I'm filled with rage now. Luckily, I'm old enough and strong enough to get away with sounding less like a small, cranky child throwing a tantrum and more like a legitimate rebel. "Well, this city's going to burn to the ground someday, and there'll be no - more - Hunger Games!" I yell.

"Shut her up," growls another Peacekeeper to the one that's dragging me down the hall. Then he opens a door. He faces me. "Spark Reviz," he snarls. "You'd better stay in line with your stylist. It's noon right now. In about eleven hours, you're going to be visiting President _Snow_. In case you've forgotten what his name is." Then he shoves me in and slams the door behind me.

The room has one large window that lets in the sunlight. There are two couches facing each other, with a table between them. In one sits a man. Surprisingly, he doesn't look as insane as the others, with skin the color of dark chocolate, a shaved head, a yellow shirt, white pants, and a double-pierced lip. I sit down on the other couch tentatively, feeling unprotected.

"Here," he says. His voice is accented heavily, but in a different accent than that of other Capitol men. My stylist's is less high-pitched, very deep, almost echoing. He hands me a robe. I nod silently and stand to tie it around myself, sitting again. I feel less exposed than before, but still strange. "My name is September. I'm your stylist." He offers one dark-skinned hand, and I shake it after a second of hesitation. I can't mess this up now. Or they'll be torturing me for days when I'm in the arena, and I don't want that. I just want rebellion. To avenge my parents. To avenge myself when I die for the rebellion.

"So," I mutter sullenly. "What's it going to be this year, for the hideous costumes you always put us in? What are we dressed up as? Seaweed? Fish? Seagulls? Fishermen? Starfish? Fishing nets? Boats?" The last suggestion makes September laugh. His laugh is not the high-pitched Capitol laugh that I know. But it sounds as if it's masking something, something that all the non-Peacekeeper Capitol citizens try to hide. Hate for me. But underneath even that, I can tell that he really enjoys being a stylist.

"Boats?" he asks, smiling widely. His teeth appear blinding compared to his dark skin. "Oh, no. My goal as a stylist is to make you look beautiful for your time as a tribute. Opening Ceremonies, interviews..." He smiles wider. "No, you're going to be a pleasure. Any tribute I've got is a joy to design new outfits for them to wear. And..." He squints at me, his dark eyes slitted. "Oh, you're perfect for what I've got in mind." He sees the impatient look on my face. "I'll tell you, I'll tell you."

"Now?" I ask. For some reason, I am a bit happier now. I've never met someone from the Capitol that actually loves what they do. "I want to know. Don't want to be delayed and have to go out in front of the nation dressed as a boat, after all."

September laughs boomingly again. "Well, in the past, because my first year to get District Four as a stylist was last year, the tributes have been dressed in costumes that relate to the sea or fishing. Keep that in mind. They _relate_ to it. But my goal this year is to make you and your fellow tribute look as good as possible, with the help of my partner, Aria. And we believe that this year, we could use a change." I groan silently. September must see the look on my face. "We've thought that it would be best instead to portray the sea itself."_  
_

"So..." I stop for a second, trying to think of the horrible possibilities that could unfold from the sea. "So, we're going to be out there naked and covered in water? And stinking like seaweed and salt?" It sounds awful to me. I imagine the transition from Sexy Sparky to Sexy Sparky the Stripper, or something along those lines. The Careers will never stop laughing. Or, maybe while they're on the letter _s_, they'll come up with something really horrible- Sexy Slutty Sparky the Stripper of the Seas, maybe? I almost giggle thinking about it, because it's so stupid-sounding.

"Oh, no, definitely not," says September. "We want to portray you as... the sea. Powerful. Endless. Strong. Relentless." He spreads his hands, indicating the sea. "We'll get started with your hair and makeup and all of that after we eat. You haven't eaten since dawn, have you?" He sees the curious look on my face and adds, "Oh, believe me, I know how you fishers and boat workers rise with the sun." He presses a button on the side of the table, and the top opens and slides away into two halves, revealing a second tabletop piled with food, though not quite as much as on the train here. "Go on, eat. You've got a long day ahead of you."

_And night,_ I think. _What with my meeting with Snow after the Opening Ceremonies. _But I can't exactly ignore the table of food. Even though I could survive the day on what I had at breakfast alone, I have a feeling that I should put on a few pounds before the arena, in case I start to starve. Besides, I don't think I'll have a chance to eat tonight, unless it's late. I fill a plate with a slice of ham drizzled in sugary glaze, vegetables in a pale brown broth that brings out their flavors, and a fluffy mound of mashed potatoes. Eating's a bit of a chore, with the silverware that Mags taught me how to use only hours ago, but September doesn't seem to mind how I stab with my knife at the mashed potatoes and then remember to use a spoon or fork. Or how I lick the plate clean. He makes small talk, saying that he's been a stylist for the Games for six years, and that he had District Twelve for four of them. That likely explains why he doesn't care about my table manners, like Miranda did.

After we eat, September gets to work on me. He applies makeup to my face -not too much, he assures me as he paints eye shadow on my eyelids. He tells me to close my eyes, but apparently I look stunning already, even naked. He sprays my whole body with something that feels like mist, telling me to raise my arms or turn when he sprays other parts of me, until I am fully sprayed down with it. My entire body feels a bit wet. Then he's brushing my hair and curling it. I feel the curls cascading over my shoulders. Then he's spraying down my body again, this time with something else. He tells me to raise my arms, and he slips what feels like a dress over my head. It feels even shorter than the dress that I wore to the reaping, and covers even less of my chest. Then he holds my arm as blindly step into a pair of shoes.

"All right, open your eyes," he says.

I open my eyes, startled at first by the bright light after what seems like years of darkness. Then I look in the mirror, and my eyes widen. I see... someone else. No, something else. Because my skin is sprayed with something that feels like liquefied silvery-white glitter that sparkles when it hits the light and reminds me of sunlight on water. I smell like a faint sea breeze, though not the fishy, stale stink of the fishing boats back in 4. My shoes are sea-blue and thankfully not too high-heeled. And I'm wearing a beautiful dress that's made of sea-colored silky fabric. It's very, very short, hardly covering my ass, showing a lot of my chest, and strapless. It emphasizes both the curves of my body and my muscles very nicely. I seem to be glittering. The dress is the exact shade of the sea that I remember so perfectly: strikingly blue, a shimmer of green, and with sunlight glinting from it.

I am the sea on the same kind of lovely summer day that I left behind.

"How..." I asked, amazed. "How did you do this? It looks just like the sea."

The stylist shrugs, grinning that wide, white smile at me. "You pull off the look just right," he says, still smiling. "I've had the pleasure of visiting District Four for a few interviews last year, considering that I was Finnick Odair's stylist instead of the female tribute's stylist, like this year. I was inspired by your sea." He studies me for a second. "You look stunning, Spark. Let's get going to the bottom floor of here, so you can get to your chariot and find your district partner."

I nod, and he directs me to the elevator. I'm still not used to the swooping sensation, and I can only hope that I'll keep my lunch down. The elevator chimes merrily, and the doors open automatically, as if by some sort of Capitol magic. I step into the room, which is large and leads out to the streets. The streets will lead to the City Circle, which will take us into the Capitol's prison that they call the Training Center. The room is filled with horses that are all different colors. District One's are shining white, while District Twelve's are black as the coal that the district mines for industry. District Four's chariot has light brown horses.

I walk over to the chariot, seeing Thor. September trails behind me. I notice a Capitol woman with curly green hair talking to Thor that must be Aria, September's fellow stylist. Thor's skin is sprayed like mine, and he's wearing shorts and no shirt. Of course. The Capitol likely wants to make us look like a sexy pair of tributes, and that we will be. I secretly file away the information that Thor is well muscled.

"Hey," I mutter. Aria smiles in greeting, and then I hear the opening music of the ceremonies played. The anthem of Panem is blasted so loud that I feel the chariot vibrating beneath my feet. Thor stands next to me.

"Thor, Spark!" calls September, as our perfectly trained horses get into position behind District Three's chariot. "Don't smile at the crowd! Look strong! They'll be blown away by you! Because you don't look stupid!" That's all I can hear before the giant doors slide open, and District One's horses prance out into the streets as the anthem pounds away deafeningly. Then District Two follows, then District Three, and then our horses are following. I feel a bit shaky, but I keep my shoes firmly balanced on the chariot as we move into the streets of the Capitol.

People are cheering for the tributes of the first three districts, and start roaring their approval at us. The Capitol becomes a hazy blur of twilight sky, bright colors, and skyscrapers as our horses faithfully trot down the streets. The people are throwing money at us, money and perfect white roses. They remind me too much of Snow, who always seems to have a rose on him. My stomach twists at the thought of meeting him tonight. I'll be punished in the arena, that's for certain. The Gamemakers probably have designed it specially for me. But I focus on what's happening now. The cheers of our names. The flashes of cameras. The Training Center looming nearer and nearer. And I realize that I love this. Getting to be in front of the entire nation. I like being famous, yes, but I want to be infamous instead.

The chariot stops in the City Circle, the loop of street surrounded by buildings. Every building in the Circle has open windows with Capitol citizens sticking their heads out to look at us. It's not until a second later that I realize we've stopped outside of President Snow's mansion. The anthem ends. He's giving his usual introductory speech from a balcony. The screens of the cameras show the faces of the tributes, and I see that Thor and I are getting more shots than any other district. I glare up at Snow's face, with its puffy lips and white hair and hollow cheeks, though not of starvation. Then the anthem's playing again -can't they think up new music for the Games?- and we're pulled into the Training Center.

The prep teams wait inside, along with September and Aria. They are full of praise, except for my prep team. Not them. Opal's got a bandage on her neck, and they all do nothing but give me dirty looks and compliment Thor. They're miserable. I guess I'll have to try to tell Snow that I was almost raped. Maybe he'll let me off the hook for punishment. I start towards an elevator, wanting to go up to my room to scrub off the glitter and change out of my dress, but I'm stopped by an Avox. She motions silently for me to come outside through a side door. I obey and try not to be too obvious, letting the door shut behind me.

I am led to a sleek black car, and I slide into the passenger seat next to the driver without any words coming out of my mouth. I see the lights of the buildings, the shining skyscrapers, and the thinning crowd. But all too soon, we're at the mansion, and I'm escorted up a set of polished marble stairs, glitter and all, to an office. The Avox who is guiding me knocks sharply on the door. "Come in," calls that hated voice. The Avox opens the shining oak doors, and I step inside. They slam behind me, and I hear the Avox locking them as soon as they shut.

I am trapped.


	5. One Red Rose

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry for the delays in updating! I've been busy with my new fanfic (also for The Hunger Games), Broken Glass. If you like my writing or Haymitch Abernathy, then check it out! This chapter is dedicated to my awesome identical twin sister, Anarchy Girl (that's her pen name). She's my ONLY reviewer for every one of my three fanfics. Actually, she's never reviewed my new one (hint, hint, Anarchy Girl! :) That's really kind of sad. I'd really appreciate getting reviews to know how I'm doing at this. I want to know what you think of my fanfic! Enjoy this beautiful, President-Snow-including chapter!**

_One Red Rose_

"Sit," President Snow hisses, pointing at a large, wooden chair on the other side of the desk.

I don't move, just stare. The room is furnished in dark wood, the floor shining like polished glass. President Snow's sitting there, sipping tea from a china cup that's painted with pink and yellow flowers on a pale green vine. He has a vase of roses sitting on his desk. All white. But there's one red rose, lying next to his teacup. The vile scent reaches me. It doesn't smell like a normal rose at all. It smells like poison. For all I know, it could be toxic just to inhale the stench.

"I said to sit," snarls President Snow, glaring. His eyes are a sharp blue below beneath the thinning white hair. "Or are you too rebellious to even do that?" He stands up, his eyes daggers. "Sit down, Miss Reviz."

I feel very conscious of my slutty, glittery costume as I pull out the chair and sit, facing him. I somehow manage to look up into his eyes. "If this is about my prep team," I say heatedly, "then one of them almost raped me. He shoved me down on a table and started stroking my body." I glare at Snow. Maybe my spark can melt him, just like I thought. "I think there's a law against abusing the tributes, sir." I force the sarcastic last word out of my mouth. Even sarcastic, it's hard to manage, calling my worst enemy _sir_.

Snow starts laughing. "Miss Reviz," he says, when he's stopping laughing. He looks into my eyes, and I keep staring at him, glaring venomously into those blue eyes. "Yes, there is laws against sexual abuse of tributes. But unfortunately for you, there are also laws against the tributes stabbing and threatening Capitol citizens. Even if they try to rape you." He stares at me. "I must admit," he says, tipping back the cup of steaming tea, "you look quite... provocative tonight. Your stylist is the best out there, in my opinion. Always wants his tributes to look their best."

"Get to the point," I spit. "What else do you want about me? Was it that I got drunk and ate like an uncivilized barbarian? I think my escort would suggest that one. Or that I practically made Finnick Odair go into a women's restroom? Or that I look too - damn - _sexy_?" I spit. "Or is it just because I'm alive?"

"All of the above, I believe," Snow says dryly, wiping his mouth on a white cloth napkin. "Actually, you're here to discuss that last one." He pours another cup of tea. "Would you care for some tea, Miss Reviz? If I do say so myself, it's divine. Made in the Capitol."

"Well..." I pretend to think about that for a second. "No, actually. You have anything stronger than that that isn't poisonous?" Snow shakes his head. I feel the anger filling me again. Anger at this man who rigged the reaping so I would be torn away from everything I know. Who executed my parents. Who will likely kill my grandmother when I have been killed. "You rigged the reaping so I'd get chosen!" I burst out, standing up abruptly. My chair falls to the ground behind me. I grip the edge of the desk so hard that my knuckles turn white. "You want me _dead_!" I yell furiously. "YOU WANT TO KILL ME! I HATE YOU!"

Snow looks equally angry. The feeling's mutual, I guess. "Control yourself, Miss Reviz," he says. "Sit down. Do you really want the Peacekeepers to pay you a visit again?" I sit, shaking with fury. "Yes, you are quite right," Snow says calmly. "I rigged the reaping. You deserve it for what your dear parents did." He strokes the white stubble on his chin. "What were their names again? Liana and Christopher Reviz, maybe?" I grind my teeth. He's being so infuriatingly calm. What a menace. I want to hit him. I want to knock him unconscious. I want to kill Snow. I will kill him someday. Or now. Maybe now would be a good time, if he isn't smart enough to shut his mouth. "Yes, they died rather slowly. Firing squad, I recall. A beautiful moment in my life. But then you had to be there, too. A silly little girl with dreams of rebellion in her pretty little head. And now you want them to be more than dreams. Isn't that right, Spark Reviz? Now that you haven't drowned in District Four, now that you're away from the water, sparks can burn." His eyes glitter in the dim light. "Fire should be carefully controlled by trusted people such as myself."

"Oh, really?" I ask. I hate him. Trusted, my ass. "Trusted? Since when are you a trusted person? I'm not the only rebel in Panem, you know."

Snow nods, picking up the one red rose to sniff it delicately. "Ah, roses. Such an exquisite scent."

"Get to the point already!" I yell. Him and his damn roses. I wish I could burn every one.

"I was saying," says Snow calmly, setting down the rose as if nothing at all has taken place out of the ordinary. "I know very well that you are not the only rebel in this fine nation of Panem _which I happen to lead_. I know about many things. Such as... what is his name, again?" Snow muses, stroking his chin again. "Oh, yes. Jakob Paylor. Born in District Eight, actually. You know Jakob from your shift on the fishing boat back home in District Four, don't you, Miss Reviz?"

I take a short breath. Jake. Jake Paylor, who gave me song, aid, a goodbye, and a kiss of farewell. Who sang the District Four fishing song every evening when we headed back to shore, and he never complained of my wind-roughened voice. Who got drunk on the wild nights of district-wide celebration, bragging that he had defied the Capitol, and there would be gasps from the prostitutes who he has a knack for attracting, with his good looks and arrogant personality. "Yeah," I mutter, staring down at the wood of Snow's desk, trying not to look at the foul red rose or the vase of its white sisters. "Yeah, I knew him."

Snow's mouth curls into a twisted smile. "Oh, really?" he sneers. "Looks like you knew each other very well. We tape all of your beautiful, heartbreaking goodbyes to your families and friends. The Capitol has done that since the very first Hunger Games." He twists the words 'beautiful' and 'heartbreaking' to make them sound sarcastic. Like the tributes are weak. I clench my fists under the table. I've got to control my temper, just like Snow says, but I will never admit that he is right. "We thought that your goodbyes were... interesting, to say the least. What a beautiful necklace you have." My hand flies to my neck, where my necklace still sits. I guess that my stylist -no, September, that's his name- thought it went well with my outfit. "Your grandmother is very kind to you, Miss Reviz. Consider yourself lucky."

"Lucky?" I growl. "You rigged the reaping so I'd be a tribute and you could get away with torturing me without stirring up new rebellions! What if I survive, then? What'll you do if I get past your Gamemakers and the Careers and manage to get myself out of the arena? Tell me! I'm dying to know!" I'm practically shouting now. But Snow stays calm.

"Ah," he says. "So, of course you know that it was rigged. It's a criminal offense to trespass on Capitol property. And I am afraid, Miss Reviz, that sorting through the reaping bowls qualifies as trespassing. But a good defense, though," he adds. "It's quite a shame that you are failing to see the benefits of working for the Capitol. You would make a simply marvelous Peacekeeper. Or a soldier, if we ever were to find ourselves in a civil war." I grit my teeth. I'll be a Peacekeeper when hell freezes over. And I'd be a soldier, oh, yes. A soldier on the rebel side.

"I was asking what you would do to me if I became the victor," I say coolly. "Don't get off topic. And if you sniff that rose one more time, I bet on the Dark Days that you'll get high on whatever amplified rose scent is leaking out of that thing."

Snow chuckles. "Very nice, Miss Reviz," he says. "But, yes, I believe that topic has come up. First of all," he says, and his eyes are cold as snow, "first of all, it's hard enough to survive in the first place. Now picture the scenario that you are in just like it is. Every Career tribute, as you call them, out for your blood. The odds not in your favor. The arena mind-blowing, to give you a hint of what to expect. Every Gamemaker ready to kill you if you pull through for long enough." He smiles cruelly. "And after that..."

"What?" I ask, because I've heard awful things about what happens to innocent children who become victors, and then these very victors become broken wrecks or things only mentioned in the worst rumors that every Career tribute denies right off. "What are you going to do to me if I make it through?"

"It depends," he says honestly. "Sadly for Panem, executing you would look very fishy. So that leaves me with one option that I admit is a very good reason to keep you alive and in line." His breath smells like blood. Disgusting, wet blood. Does he drink it? I peer suspiciously at the teacup, which sits innocently on the desk.

"You do you that, even as president of Panem, my wages are low compared to other rich Capitol citizens?" he says suddenly. "I make most of my money from other things. Because having a pocket full of famous victors is always an advantage. You have a very good appearance, Miss Reviz." His eyes study me. I suddenly feel hate for my stylist, that I look so beautiful and glittery in front of the president. "You were quite poor back in your district. Did you ever resort to prostitution to make enough money for food?"

I want to beat Snow bloody for saying that. "No," I say forcefully. "It wouldn't have worked, anyway. Most of the district either hated me or was terrified of me. And why the hell should it matter to you? You're a bit old for that, I think."

Snow laughs, then coughs into a pristine white handkerchief. "Oh, no, Miss Reviz," he says. "No. A few of my special victors are perfect for giving me some extra money. The Capitol loves it. My best-looking victors are given that... duty. And you will be one of them if you are a victor. You will also be a Peacekeeper."

"No," I say immediately. "I may look like a slut, but I'm not. So you can just go to hell. I'd rather get killed in the arena and stir up some rebellions in the districts -and maybe even the Capitol- than survive the arena and have to sleep with a load of Capitol bastards every night and be a Peacekeeper by day. Besides, that puts the money in your pocket, not mine. So what's the reason for victors being forced to sell their bodies?"

"The reason?" says Snow. "The reason is... Well, look at Haymitch Abernathy. The only living victor from District Twelve. The drunkard. But right after he won his Games, he was young and handsome, though it's hard to believe. I considered selling him. He refused and started drinking. Do you know why he's alone? Because I killed his entire family. I killed his parents and his brother. I killed his lover." Snow grins evilly. "And I could easily kill your grandmother. And Jakob Paylor, while I'm at it." His eyes glitter. "Do you understand me?"

I nod, a sick taste in my mouth like I'm about to throw up.

"Good," says Snow evenly. Then he points to the doors. "You are dismissed, Miss Reviz. And..." He sips from the teacup, and I get another whiff of blood and roses. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."


	6. Deadly Eyes

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry that it's been a while, to all of my (possibly nonexistent) loyal readers. I've been working on my other fanfic, Broken Glass. As always, I would really like some reviews to know how I'm doing on this... But I hope you enjoy this chapter! And I hope that was a good ending line for the last chapter. 'May the odds be ever in your favor...' Anyway, onto the chapter!**

_Deadly Eyes_

"Wake up!" Miranda Sanrough squeals in my ear. I sit bolt upright, then relax when I see that it's just my overly enthusiastic escort. Oh. Training starts today. I vaguely remember leaving President Snow's office, running down to where the Avox drove me there to see the car waiting. Then I ran up to my room in the Training Center, stripping off my dress and left it in a heap on the bathroom floor, took a shower to scrub the glitter from my skin, and fell asleep in my huge, comfortable bed. "Today's training! You must be delighted!"

In answer, I slump back down and roll over with my face smashed into the pillow. I pull the covers over my head. "Go away," I groan sleepily. The late-night visit to President Snow's office really took a toll on me. Training starts at ten, so I think I'm safe for now. "What kind of pervert watches tributes sleeping?"

Miranda gasps in horror as she pulls the covers off of me. She gasps again even louder when she sees that I'm stark naked, not even wearing underclothes. "Spark!" she reprimands. "Your mentor would like to speak with you! And, dear, put on some clothes! How about a dress? No, wait, you're training. Ah, well." She sighs. "Your stylist has laid out some clothes for you. And, Spark..." I know that whatever she's about to say can't be good. "I must say, congratulations."

"On what?" I ask, getting out of bed and locking myself in the bathroom. I don't expect her to respond, but of course, being the persistent bitch she is, she does. "The Opening Ceremonies?"

"Oh, no!" she shrieks. "I mean, you're the first tribute I've had in years that doesn't snore loudly! Even your district partner, Thor, sounds like he's choking on his pillow! Even Finnick Odair, your mentor, snores!"

I bite my tongue to keep from laughing right here and now. Especially when I hear a noise outside. Finnick's voice. I pull on the outfit that September laid out for me -black leather boots that go up to my ankles, tight black socks, tight brown pants, a black tank top, and a black leather jacket. I look in the mirror. Yes, this is Spark Reviz. The rebel who didn't waste words at all with President Snow and made every second count. I open the bathroom door to see Finnick standing in my room saying to Miranda, "What was that about me snoring?" He's handsome, I'll admit, even though he's younger than me. But secretly, I think that Jake Paylor is better looking than him in a different way.

Miranda ushers us to the dining room so we can eat breakfast. I glance at the overly fancy clock on the wall. I have half an hour. I sit down, and Avoxes come to serve me right away. I take a glass of orange juice and fill a plate with scrambled eggs, sausages, and rolls. Thor is nowhere to be seen. I suspect Mags has cornered him and is discussing training strategies with him at this very second. As I eat -more sensibly, but still more than I would at home-, Finnick sits down across the table from me.

"So, Spark," he says as I drain my glass of orange juice, and the Avox takes away my glass and empty plate, "do you have any weapons that you're particularly skilled with, or any other skills?"

I nod, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand, much to Miranda's disapproval. "Yeah," I say. His eyes are so strikingly green that it's like the piercing of a sword to look at him. "Yeah, I'm good at throwing knives. And I know some survival skills, too. I can fish. Obviously." My hand reaches up to touch the flat shell on my necklace. I feel its light ridges. "So, what do you think I should do?" This is really such a joke. Finnick is younger than I am. I wonder why I'm even taking him seriously.

In the second that he's thinking, I continue. "Why the hell should I even trust you? You're younger than me. You just got out of the arena because you've got good looks that sponsors like. You think that everybody loves you, right? Because they think that you're handsome, and you're a victor. But I hate you. Why should I even ask you for advice? I'd do better on my own."

Finnick's eyes get hard. "You should take me seriously," he says quietly, "because I'm a victor and you're not. I'm your mentor. And if I really was so weak, I would've been killed in the bloodbath. You know that, Reviz." He looks very serious. It doesn't match the permanently etched wrinkles at the corners of his eyes from smiling often. "It isn't as easy as you think it is, to win."

"All the odds are against me!" I snarl, so loudly that Miranda gives me an affronted look and leaves, pushing in her chair neatly. My hands are clenched into fists. "You know that," I say, quieter this time. "The Gamemakers'll blow me to pieces the second I step off my damn land mine. The Careers will tear me to pieces. Or I'll starve. Or a pack of starving mutts are going to eat me alive. How the hell should I know? I just know that I'm going to _die,_ Finnick, so what's the damn point?" I think I might start really yelling now, but he speaks first.

"I know that the odds are against you," Finnick says calmly. "Believe me, I know. They want you dead, Spark." He pauses. "But it looks like you haven't quite accepted that you're not going to make it."

I almost yell in frustration. "Well, sure as hell I've accepted it!" I say heatedly. "I know that I'm going to die! I know that I'm going to have to die for the rebels and not be just another fucking Capitol victim! I just don't want to die, Finnick, ever think of that?" I have to take a deep breath then, because I'm in danger of crying. "I don't _want _to die!"

"Exactly why you should survive against the odds," says Finnick. "Are you all right? You look kind of..." He knows that I'm about to cry. "Look, you've got fifteen minutes until you need to be at the bottom floor to train. Just... don't do anything stupid. That's all the advice you need. And don't be afraid to show off. The tributes from the outlying districts need to think that you've trained for this just as much as a Career."

"I've trained more than any Career," I say. "My parents told me that I needed to. They knew that the Capitol would draw me sooner or later."

Finnick nods and takes a sip of coffee, cringing. "Ugh, I've never gotten used to what they eat here," he says, dumping in so many sugar cubes that the coffee almost overflows the cup. "That's better," he decides after mixing it in and taking a huge gulp. "Anyway, how do you feel about alliances?"

"No allies," I say immediately. "I don't exactly want anyone innocent to get killed just because I'm their ally. You know that the Gamemakers would torture and murder any ally that I'd have."

Finnick nods slowly. "Well, glad to see you've got some kindness in you," he says under his breath. "But I'll give you some advice now: some of the lower districts aren't as bad as they seem. If you end up with allies after all, go with District Seven, Eleven, or Twelve. Their tributes are always underestimated. But they're good some of the time. The ones from Seven usually are strong from chopping trees. The ones from Eleven can have some good survival skills. And the poorest ones from Twelve..." I make a disgusted face. "No, Spark, they're the best tributes that I've seen when it comes to survival skills."

"Ha," I mutter, standing up. "Twelve's had two victors. One is dead and the other's an insane drunk. You really think I should get myself an ally?"

Finnick nods. "You better leave now, though," he says, pointing at the clock. Then he answers my question. "An ally would do you some good," he adds. "Just don't get too attached. Or..." His voice starts fading away as I leave the room. "Don't get them killed unless they deserve it."

* * *

Ten o'clock. The Training Center gym is full of tributes and instructors as the clock bongs out ten times. My eyes survey the tributes, particularly the Careers. The girl from One has black hair that she keeps braided down her back. She's staring impatiently at the head trainer, who is in the middle of a long-winded speech about the training. I make a mental note: _She's got to be killed. And I call her._ She looks more than a bit slutty, what with her district partner and a few other male tributes staring at her. Thor's staring, that's for sure. The District Two male sends shivers down my spine, with his deep brown eyes and dark skin and terrifying strength. His district partner has short blond hair that she has in a high ponytail on top of her head, and she looks like she's ready to run and start fighting someone. So far, the most dangerous look like the pair from Two by far._  
_

When the head trainer tells us that we can begin, the Careers go for the weapons right away. Only the scrawny little brats from the lower districts try to work on camouflage or survival skills. I don't bother with that. I already know that I'm going to die, just like I told Finnick, so what's the point of learning to survive? Besides, I already know how to survive easily. I have experience. So I head over to a rack of beautiful, shining, throwing knives. I feel almost intoxicated by the shine of electricity on the blades, the hilts that seem shaped for my hands. I may be left-handed, but I can still throw knives better than most Career tributes that I've seen.

I take five knives to start with, and face the targets. Easy. Standard bull's-eyes, with the yellow center. I decide to warm up on those. I remember what my father taught me, so many years ago, and I can almost imagine his face again. _Breathe out. Arm back. Breathe in. Breathe out. Throw._ I follow these instructions perfectly. Some of the tributes stop to stare. The girl from Twelve, who looks around my age, is watching me closely. Then I throw hard, the knife spinning end over end, until it hits the target.

Right in the center of the bull's-eye.

Then I'm surrounded by Career tributes. Naturally, they're jealous. Or maybe they want me for an alliance, which seems laughable. The girl from Two strides confidently up to me. "So you're Spark," she says. Her eyes are hazel, and her lightly tanned face is sprinkled with freckles below her eyes and across the bridge of her nose. She extends a hand. I take note of the callused fingers from years of handling weapons. I refuse to shake it, though, glaring at her stubbornly. Trying to stare her down. But, like the dog she is, since she looks like such a bitch, she's just provoked. "I'm Sage."

"Since when did I ask what _your_ name was, damn it?" I ask, before I remember what Finnick said. Not to do anything stupid, and this is one thing that I really can't take back. "I'm not going to be in any alliance with you, if that's what you and the other Careers are going to ask. Alliances are full of shit." I don't break her gaze, just staring at her. She looks like one hell of a bitch to take down in my opinion. But I'd bet my nonexistent money that I can get some knives at the Cornucopia when the Games started.

Sage's hazel eyes narrow, looking purely deadly. If only I knew how my gray-blue eyes look right now. But I'm sure that I'm matching her glare. "_You're_ full of shit if that's what you think," she says coolly. "Run along, then, Rebel Girl. Throw your knives at the bitch from Twelve or something." She jerks a thumb at the girl who was watching me. "Hey, bitch!" she yells. "What's your name, little-bitch-from-Twelve?"

The girl looks up. Yes, years of watching the Hunger Games for mandatory viewings have taught me that she must be as poor as me. Her eyes are deep gray, almost a dark silver. "Tess," she says, smirking with an arrogance that I've never seen from a District Twelve tribute, much less any tribute that isn't a Career. "And why the hell are you asking?" I can tell that she's teasing me a bit, because she winks at me quickly. Her stare is almost as strong as mine.

"Hey, Silver!" Sage calls to the District One boy. "This little bitch's name is Tess. Is that short for tessera, or something? Which I'm sure you had a lot of to get picked in the reaping." Then Sage looks at me, with false kindness like poisoned sugar in her eyes. "But you didn't need any tesserae, did you, Rebel Girl?" she says sweetly, grinning wickedly and baring her perfectly white teeth. "The Capitol's going to kill you. Either that, or it'll be one of us." She's almost purring. "Right, Rebel Girl? We're going to kill you. No more Rebel Girl."

I'm practically shaking with anger. In my mind, Finnick is screaming, _"Don't do anything stupid, don't do anything stupid!"_ But I want to ignore him. If I show the Careers what I'll do to them in the arena, like a preview... well, to hell with the Peacekeepers and President Snow and punishment. I don't care anymore. I'll save surviving for the arena. For now, I know that they can't kill me without causing a mass uprising across Panem. So I pay attention to the other voice in my head, the one that isn't Finnick's. In my mind, Jake Paylor is telling me how to throw a trident. Well, this is close enough, just smaller.

_Breathe in._

I take a breath, my head spinning in anger when I see the Careers laughing at me.

_Aim._

I raise my arm, a knife clenched tight in my hand. I focus on Sage's heart, positioning the knife in my hand. The Careers' laughter dies down.

_Breathe out._

I let my breath out, the air hissing. The Careers now look a bit nervous, although they're trying to hide it.

_Throw._

And just as the knife starts to fly, it's thrown off course by the movement of my hand as I hear an alarm sound.


	7. Electrifying Fire

**Author's Note:**

**I forgot to add an author's note to the end of the last chapter. So, here's the thing I need to say: Sage's nickname for Spark ("Rebel Girl") is inspired off of my sister's pen name, Anarchy Girl. And thank you to Anarchy Girl, daydreamer626, and Radio Free Death for reviewing! And to the last of these three reviewers, I'm writing this the way that I think the Capitol would see this. Keep that word in mind. _I _am writing it that way. Not anyone else. This is the way that _I_ see it. But everyone's feedback is appreciated (insert Capitol accent to this sentence...)! Anyway, here's Chapter Seven! Hope you like it!**

_Electrifying Fire_

The knife sinks into Sage's shoulder with a burst of blood. She screams in pain, pulling it out right away. For just a moment, she looks furious enough to throw it back at me, but then her eyes get wide and she drops the knife, sinking to the ground. I turn to see Peacekeepers. Well, they can just go to hell for all I care. Sage's poor-little-victim routine isn't going to stop me anytime soon. I kneel down to where she's collapsed against the wall and grab her by the shoulders. She yelps in pain as my fingers dig into her fresh wound and I slam her head into the wall. "Don't - say - that," I say, breathing heavily. She starts screaming. But I can see right through her lies and tell that she is just trying to get the Peacekeepers to punish me. "Or I swear I'll kill you."

One of the younger tributes shrieks in horror, but otherwise from that, there is a second of perfect silence, tainted only by my heavy breathing that seems so loud in the quiet. Then the Peacekeepers are trying to pull me away from her, and they've succeeded. No! I can't let them. I stagger to my feet, straining to get at her, but I can't break free from the six Peacekeepers that are holding me back. "Let me go!" I yell. I must look like the picture of madness, but what do I care? "Let go of me!" They take the knives out of my hands and force them behind my back, cuffing my wrists. The other tributes are staring. Even the Careers look mystified.

Once the Peacekeepers have dragged my fighting, screaming self into the hallway, they pull me onto the elevator. "Yes, President Snow?" says one, speaking into some kind of communication device. I try not to look daunted, but it's a shock. President Snow. So this will show him that I won't die without a fight. They pause for a minute or so as the elevator goes up. My breathing seems oddly loud into the small space. "Yeah, this is about Spark Reviz of District Four. She threw a knife at the female tribute from Two and hit her in the shoulder. Hard."

There is a second where the Peacekeeper waits for a response. "Oh, my apologies, President," he says, and my blood goes cold. He's speaking directly to the president of the nation, about me. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. "What? Oh, the injured tribute's name? That'd be Sage Tlavra of District Two." He pauses again. "Yes, meet you in the basement of your mansion in five minutes. All right, then." He stabs at a button on the communication device, and the call is cut.

We arrive at the roof of the Training Center. Of course, I'm taken right onto a hovercraft. Considering that Snow's mansion is only a block or so away, it seems stupid. But why am I worrying about that? Maybe it's because I'm imagining a variety of things. Death... torture... But death would cause Panem to go into full-out rebellion if the Capitol killed a tribute. Torture seems quite likely at this point, as we land almost as soon as we've gotten in the air. What a waste, when there are people in the districts starving and desperate to get even a sip of water or a slice of bread. Stupid. Exactly why the Capitol shouldn't be in power.

I am taken in an elevator only a floor down, to the basement. I am dreading the moment when the elevator will chime musically and its doors will open, but it comes after a few seconds. The doors slide open to reveal a place so unsettling that it seems to belong to a different universe than the flamboyant, excessively colorful, candy-coated Capitol. The ceiling, walls, and floors are made of hard, unforgiving stone. It looks like a prison, almost, but then I see something else. The one furnishing. A chair that seems to be made of metal, with many wires surrounding it. It almost looks like an electric chair, and that's what sends a bolt of pure fear through me. Snow wants to electrocute me? Torture me?

"Sit," says a Peacekeeper roughly, shoving me onto the chair. "President Snow will be here shortly. Don't try anything. He wants to speak to you privately, and as for after the discussing... well, I hope you like high voltage." He winds the wires all around me, around my legs and arms, around my torso. I don't move or speak. My stomach's in knots and I'm as speechless as an Avox. Voltage? _High_ voltage? So they are going to electrocute me and torture me.

Then the Peacekeepers go out, and I see the thin, white-haired man walking over to my chair. President Snow. He has a red rose in a buttonhole in his suit. Somehow, that makes me even more furious. Him and his damn roses. I hate them, hate the horrible reek of the red rose. "Ah, Miss Reviz," he says silkily, pulling up a normal chair next to me. "I would call it a pleasure to see you again, but frankly, it isn't." His eyes glitter. I try to work my wrists out of the cuffs, but they're too tight on me. "You just keep disobeying authority's orders for you, don't you." It isn't a question, but I answer.

"Yeah," I say, looking right at him. "If authority means a withering old bastard that smells like rotting rose petals, then I'm disobeying authority."

The look on his face is so perfect that I want to laugh. He looks furious. "Miss Reviz," he says calmly. "Would you kindly be quiet while I speak? I'm sure you don't want me to up the voltage once this conversation has ended." I glare at him wordlessly. "Ah, a small improvement. But you will not be allowed to train with the other tributes, although on the final day, you still have to get a score from my team of Gamemakers. You need to find time to train on your own, I'm afraid. Perhaps at night, though all of the instructors will have gone home." I grit my teeth, trying not to use the string of curses that I have in mind for this... certain occasion. "Looks like it's a one for you. What a waste. You really would make a wonderful victor, if it weren't for all of this rebellion business." He sighs. "Do you have anything to add, Miss Reviz?"

"Yeah," I say before I can stop the words. "Yeah, my name's Spark. Not Miss Reviz. And the bitch from Two was trying to get me angry, so it was her fault, you know." I lean back in the electric chair. Hopefully they won't scorch my hair. "So, onto torturing me. Isn't that right, Coriolanus fucking Snow?" He nods, getting ready to say something, but I stop him. "Oh, and I've been wondering. What about my mentor, Finnick? You've been selling him off to Capitol bitches to put some money in your pocket, right?" President Snow nods. Finnick. My mentor, who is so cocky and caring, who is probably on a sugar high from his morning coffee, who took care of his tribute -me- when she -no, I- was drunk. He's being sold because of Snow. And that's my fate, too, if the Gamemakers don't 'accidentally' forget to disable the explosives on my land mine after the sixty seconds of wait at the bloodbath and I'm blown up to the clouds.

I think I'd rather have the selling, even though it sounds like torture.

"Well, you've said enough," says Snow, messing with the wires a bit and plugging things into several outlets in the stone wall. "Now, looks like we've got a while, don't we? What fun." He has his finger on a small red button that is on a device that sits in the palm of his hand. "I'd like to see how defiant you can be after being electrocuted for hours."

"Very defiant," I answer, but my throat is dry, and my voice almost cracks like I'm going to cry. "So get on with it. And maybe I won't defy you anymore. Or maybe I will."

President Snow's finger stabs down at the button. Electrocuting me.

I feel like a lightning bolt for one second, before the agony hits. The pain kicks in a moment later, and I'm writhing and straining at the wires and handcuffs, but keeping my mouth shut for all it's worth. I smell burning fabric and hair. My back arches in pain, and I shut my eyes. I will not cry. I will not scream. I can't be weak. I can't let him know that this hurts like hell. My nerves are screaming in pain at me, and every muscle in my body is telling me to scream and cry, but I hold back.

"Oh, that isn't enough for you?" asks President Snow. My eyes are watering in pain, but I glare at him as best as I can. He smiles evilly. "Well, let's increase the voltage level and see how you're doing after that." He presses other buttons on the device, then presses the red button again after a satisfied smile. Like a happy child playing with a toy.

This time is much worse. My whole body flexes hard, my spine arching in a spasm of pure agony. I bite my lip so hard that I taste blood. A tiny whimper escapes me as I pull at the chains and handcuffs, trying desperately to get out. And only a minute or so has passed. Hours of this... well, I'll be halfway dead by the time normal training for the tributes is over.

It seems to go on forever. With me staying close to silent, although my body is searing in pain and thrashing. President Snow soon gets bored and bids me farewell -how the fuck can I fare well, being electrocuted for hours?- and is replaced momentarily by a burly Peacekeeper man who laughs every time I show pain. The voltage goes up... and up... and up so many times that I lose track. I don't know when I start screaming, but it's after they make the voltage constant. I thrash around, almost tipping over the chair, screaming at the top of my lungs. I curse the Hunger Games. I curse President Snow. I curse the Peacekeeper who laughs at my screams as he increases the voltage every moment. But most of all, I curse the Capitol. They all deserve death. They're feasting away right now, as I am being tortured in President Snow's basement with nothing to eat and no one but a mocking Peacekeeper.

Finally, I just give up. Even though the pain is constant, I close my eyes. "KILL ME!" I yell. "Just get it over with? You're just afraid that it'll start a rebellion and that your precious Capitol will be overthrown!"

The Peacekeeper laughs, as usual, and starts to jab at buttons on the device in his hand, but he frowns. "Well, I'm sorry to say that this is the highest I can take the voltage level without giving you permanent brain damage, nerve damage, or muscle damage. Higher than even that would kill you within approximately one second flat." I glare at him, trying not to cry. I don't want to have my body damaged even more. "But, I'm sad to say for myself that, under President Snow's orders, I am to keep you alive and not seriously injured, or the nation will be wondering what we did to you." He glances at his watch, which barely fits his thick wrist. "Ah, the odds appear to be in your favor, Miss Reviz. Training is over for the day, unfortunately for me. You are responsible for your own training. You are allowed to go down to the Training Center's training area at night, but you will have Peacekeeper guards. And every day, when everyone else goes to training, you will come here."

My heart sinks. No doubt about it, this will surely weaken me in the arena. But I feel a tiny sense of relief as he pries the wires off of me, although he keeps on the handcuffs. "What the hell, I guess you'll have to kill me for real if I don't, then," I say weakly. I'm too weary to fight back now. In fact, when I stand up, I crumple to the ground. Every bit of me surges with horrible, throbbing pain. The Peacekeeper has to support me in the elevator and out to the sidewalk in front of Snow's mansion. I collapse into the passenger seat of a fancy black car, and an Avox is driving. I don't feel like fighting. I feel like falling asleep and dying. It hurts.

But, wait... I can't let that weaken me. True rebels never let torture stop them.

I stagger into the elevator and go up to District Four's floor. It's only four o'clock, but I want to fall asleep. I run up to my room, running right into Thor in the hall. He glares at me furiously, but then I leave and just stumble to my room. The bed looks so inviting, and I ache all over. My stomach is growling painfully, and the relief and pain turn into something else and I roll over in bed and start sobbing into my pillow. I sob so loudly that Finnick and Mags hear.

The door creaks open. "Go away," I moan, crying. "Please." But no, Mags is far too persistent. Her and Finnick walk in and sit on the bed next to me. I sit up, propping myself up on the pillows. "I know. Yell at me. Kill me. I don't even care. It'd be a relief, you know. They electrified me for hours. And I'm starving. And... they're going to do it again. Every day of training. I have no training, but I'm allowed to train at night with Peacekeepers standing guard. And I still have to have a score." I start crying even harder. "I'm so stupid. But I have to do this. It's for the rebellion."

Mags hands me a flowery handkerchief, and I wipe my eyes and blow my nose as she pats my back comfortingly. "Finnick, you told her not to do anything stupid," she reprimands. Seeing my expression, she adds, "But they're being unreasonable. That District Two girl was taunting her. There wasn't really much else to do. And electrocution for three days... that would add up to about eighteen hours, taking away maybe one for individual sessions with the Gamemakers. That's very harsh."

I start crying again. "I want to go home," I sob into the handkerchief. I can't believe I'm saying this, but it's true. "It hurts all over. My whole body. I feel so awful. And dizzy. And sick. And... I just want to go home."

Finnick, to my surprise, puts his arms around me comfortingly. "It's going to be okay," he whispers, embracing me. His breath smells like coffee and sugar cubes. I hug him back, desperate for any closeness. It's strange, since he's my mentor, but I don't care. "Spark, I told you not to do anything stupid."

I look up into his sea green eyes, and tears well in mine. "But it's not stupid," I say, blinking. "I'm doing this for the rebellion, Finnick. It matters more than anything else ever will. So there'll never be anyone else that gets tortured like this." And I think that, despite the pain, I might truly mean it.


	8. After Sundown

**Author's Note:**

**Hello, everyone! This story's getting close to ten chapters! *gasp!* As always, I would like some reviews to see what you think of this fanfic! That's all I have to day! I am kind of taking the suggestion by Anarchy Girl that she put in a review, so here it is. She kind of is forcing me to make Finnick be on a sugar high, so that's if you think it's weird of something, because it is. Enjoy!**

_After Sundown_

Mags and Finnick manage to coax me into eating. Even though I'm starving, I feel dizzy and weak. Definitely not the shape I want to be in in the arena, or else I'll be the first one dead, right as the announcer yells out, "Let the Sixty-sixth Hunger Games begin". Not the luck that I need. I'll be killed either way, but I don't want it to be a Career causing my death. Mags almost has to beg me to eat anything at all, and within minutes of eating, I run to the bathroom in my room and throw up in the sink. My whole body is weak, and I feel oddly disoriented, off balance. I wipe the sweat from my forehead.

Finnick walks in. He looks a bit hyper, after at least five coffees and what seems like half his weight in sugar cubes. "You all right?" he asks as I run the hot water, scouring the vomit from the sink with the high pressure of it. He frowns. "How much voltage did they use, anyway?" he asks.

"Well, if they'd used any more, I'd have brain damage and 'severe impairments'," I say sarcastically, my voice shaking a bit. I'm scaring myself. "I'm fine, Finnick." I wipe my mouth on my hand, then wipe my hand on my pants. "Why do you care? Because you've got two more days of this to go."

He smiles. "All right, I won't care, then," he says. "I came to get you. The girl from District Twelve-" _Tessera,_ I think, _the girl who the Careers teased_. "-She wants you to meet her at the top floor. District Twelve's." I scowl. District Twelve's floor... The boy tribute from Twelve looks like a weakling, but Tess didn't sound that bad. But their one living victor and only mentor, Haymitch Abernathy, is a pain in the ass. Just last year at the reaping, I watched a rerun of him smashing a liquor bottle over the mayor's head and laughing hysterically so hard that he fell down the stairs that lead up to the stage. Great. "So, are you feeling up to it?"

I sigh and wash out my mouth and spit in the sink, trying to wash the taste of vomited-up Capitol food from my mouth. "All right," I say, walking out of the bathroom. "After that, I'm going to the Training Center gym to train. I'm allowed to train at night if there's Peacekeeper guards."

"I'll meet you in the Training Center," says Finnick. "I'm lucky that I can watch you, I guess. Although it isn't worth having you electrocuted." As he says this, I remember something that hurts like a slap across the face. Finnick. President Snow, saying that Finnick had to sleep with Capitol women, and Snow was the one who got the money.

"Don't you have other things to do tonight?" I ask, looking into his eyes. He flinches. The deep green of his irises looks like the sea on a sunny day. He nods after a second. "Sleep with anyone? Surprising, that anyone wants you. You're... you're only fifteen, you know." Then I pause. "Do they ever hurt you, Finnick?"

Finnick sighs and pulls off his shirt, turning around. I hold back a swearword or two or three when I see the ugly purple bruises ruining his golden skin. He looks like he's been clawed by cats repeatedly all over his back. "They do worse, sometimes," says Finnick, turning around to face me again. "But I'd have to strip all the way if you wanted to see that. And trust me, you don't." He closes his eyes for a second, the green disappearing. "Why are you asking? Snow told you, I know, but..." Finnick swears. "Is he going to make you do that, to, if you're the victor?"

"Yeah," I mutter as I stare at the floor, unable to look at his bruises and scratches. "But they probably won't let me live. Snow wants me to be a Peacekeeper during the day and be one of his prostitutes at night." Finnick pulls his shirt back on, seeing that I'm uncomfortable. "But, you know, that's if the Gamemakers don't drop a bomb on me or the Careers don't cut my head off."

"Oh, you're being pessimistic," says Finnick with a shrug. "Come on." I think he's had a few too many sugar cubes, personally, but I open the door of my room and walk out into the hallway, successfully avoiding Mags, September, and Miranda. The elevator doors slide open, and I step in. After a few seconds, they start sliding shut slowly. Finnick lunges toward the elevator. "Hey!" he yells. He's had far too much sugar, and he looks a bit crazed, grinning maniacally at me. "Aren't you going to say _goodbye_ to me?" This feels like a small preview of Haymitch Abernathy, and it's putting things into perspective very well.

"No," I mutter as the elevator doors shut with a musical chime. I press the button for the top floor, District Twelve's floor, and feel the elevator shoot up right away. I lean against the side, my forehead against the cool glass wall. It's not easy to think. Why is Tess even bothering when I barely know her name, or care? If she wants to be my ally, she must be suicidal. Because I know that the Gamemakers, the Capitol, and the Careers all want me dead, so why pretend that I'm going to make it?

I step out of the elevator, shaken from my trance as the doors open and the motion stops. The doors close behind me, and I feel oddly insignificant. Like I've stepped into an unfamiliar world. I try to orient myself and find the dining room, with the District Twelve stylists, the tributes, and Haymitch all sitting at the table. They haven't seen me, so I take a second to watch them as they discuss what appears to be strategy. But I'm just tuning that out. I recognize Haymitch on television -he's always been a very popular victor, considering that he won the Quarter Quell, and that his family and girlfriend all died in another of the Capitol's 'tragic accidents". He looks so beaten down. So weary of mentoring tributes that he knows will die, since he's mentored for all of his sixteen years as a victor. Always drunk. I hope that I never end up like that. I see Tess, shoveling food into her mouth like she's been starving her whole life. She has, I'll bet. I have.

Unfortunately, it's not Tess, but Haymitch who notices me. "Hey, sweetheart," he says in a slurred voice. I can smell the liquor from here. He starts laughing, choking on his alcohol at the same time. "You're that girl who threw a knife at the bitch from Two, right, sweetheart?" I nod uncomfortably. He laughs so hard that he sprays alcohol at Tess, who is unfortunately sitting across from him. "Good job, sweetheart. Good job." He gestures to Tess so wildly that he hits her in the face. The chaperone squeals indignantly, but Tess just shrugs.

"Oh, sorry," mutters Haymitch, his face flushing even redder than before. "Sit down, Sexy Sparky." He motions to the empty chair next to him. I glare at him because of my nickname and sit down. He throws his arm over my shoulders. "Hell, I wish I'd have done something that original during my training. Would've made things fun. I had forty-seven people to practice on, after all." The Capitol people seem to flinch whenever Haymitch curses. I scowl. Haymitch probably wouldn't find constant electrocution very fun. He notices the look on my face. "Damn it, sweetheart, what the hell did Snow do to you, anyway? You look awful."

"Electrocuted me for hours," I say shortly, not looking at anyone. I feel out of place, the only one from District Four. Everyone turns to look at me. I finally look at Tess. She has long black hair piled in a bun on top of her head, and olive skin. Her eyes, almost silver, almost sting me. "Today. Tomorrow. Most of the day after that. I'm allowed to train at night if I've got guards. And I've still got to get a score from the Gamemakers." Why am I talking so much? I think that I might be rambling just so I can vent for once in my life. "They'll probably give me a zero."

"Oh, no," says Tess. She grins at me. "It'll be in the negatives. In a good way, I mean. You really showed that bitch." She leans back in her chair. "Haymitch, get your hands off of her." Haymitch shrugs and moves away from me, and I think that I may have been holding my breath. Even if I'm not afraid of deadly Career tributes, there is something unnerving about the drunk mentor from Twelve. I think it's because I know that I will never have a chance at any future, much less one that painful.

District Twelve's chaperone finally notices me. "Would you like anything to eat?" she asks. I shake my head, remembering vomiting in the sink only minutes ago. "It's so wonderful to have a visitor! And all the way from District Four! They usually hate us!"

"Yeah, well, I'm not a Career," I say. "I'm a rebel, and you can tell that to Snow whenever you want, because the entire nation of Panem knows by now."

There's a bit of a shocked silence, and then I look at Tess. "Why did you want me to come here, anyway? I'm probably earning all of you a torturing just by talking to you. And like I said earlier, alliances are full of shit."

Haymitch bursts out laughing, but Tess doesn't seem to care. "I know that you think that," she says. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I keep thinking that it's my fault for getting Sage all riled up, so... I didn't mean for you to get tortured." She blushes and looks down. "I know it sounds stupid. I just don't want to owe anything before I die. We've got this thing about owing people in the Seam." I give her a questioning glance. "The poorest part of District Twelve, I mean. I hate to owe people anything. But in this case, I feel like I owe you a favor for getting Sage angry."

"That isn't your fault," I say, but a wave of something like gratitude washes over me. It's kind of sweet how she thinks it's her fault, what happened. "I lost my temper. My mentor keeps telling me not to do anything stupid, but I guess it's just part of me. Don't blame yourself for what I did." Then I pause. "Is that all?"

Tess shakes her head slowly, turning away from me. "Hey, Tigris, Tom, can you clear out?" she says to the one remaining stylist -the other left- and her district partner. "Sorry, but I need a discussion on strategy." I wonder what she's up to, but Tigris, the stylist who looks like a mutated tiger and appears to be eating raw liver, leaves, and Tom, Tess's district partner, nods and pushes in his chair, heading for his room. As soon as they're gone, Tess speaks again, turning to Haymitch. "You think it would be stupid to make an alliance. Right?"

Haymitch nods, then seems to think it over and groans. "With her?" he says. Tess nods. I feel a rush of horror go through me. I can't get anyone killed who doesn't deserve it. And considering that almost everyone deserves it, it means a lot. "You're in for it then, girl. She's a rebel! The Gamemakers are going to kill her as soon as the Games begin. She's..." He looks at me. "What exactly have you done so far?"

I have to think it over. "Got drunk on the train, apparently ate like a barbarian, told my prep team to go to hell, cut one of my prep team members with a butter knife, yelled at President Snow and said that I hated him, called myself a rebel in front of President Snow, told a Career tribute that alliances were full of shit, threw a knife at a Career tribute and hit her in the shoulder, called President Snow a..." I struggle to remember. The electrocution's really taken a toll on me. "A withering old bastard that smells like rotting rose petals, called Sage a bitch to President Snow's face, and called the president Coriolanus fucking Snow. Maybe more stuff, but I've lost track. " I look at Tess, right in her silvery District Twelve eyes. "You really still want to be my ally?"

Haymitch, who has been laughing his head off the whole time that I have listed my crimes, pulls me toward him and hugs me so hard that I feel like I'm choking. "Oh, I like you!" he says happily, squeezing me next to him. I can smell the liquor on him, the stink of sweat and unwashed clothes. "You really are a rebel!" He laughs, and his breath invades my nose. "A butter knife? Getting drunk on the train? Full of shit?" He's saying all this between bursts of laughter, repeating my words. "A witherin' old bastard that smells like rottin' rose petals?" His voice is getting slurred even more. "Coriolanus fucking Snow?" He pushes me against him so hard that I think my ribs are cracking. Every muscle in me surges in complaint.

"Oh, let her go, Haymitch," says Tess, grinning a crooked-toothed smile. "The guy on her prep team nearly raped her, so she's had enough of that."

Haymitch is still laughing. "Oh, you better be the victor, sweetheart!" he says. "Haven't met a good rebel in a while." He lowers his voice. "You know, if you survive, you wouldn't have to do what Snow wants for you. You could still be a rebel, and more than just messing around during the Games. For real, sweetheart." Then he lets me go. I feel myself relax again. "So. Tess. You want her for an ally?"

Tess nods, and I beat Haymitch to speaking. "That'd be fine with me, but I'll get you killed. You know that. I'm a target for the other tributes and the Gamemakers. They aren't going to let me out of the arena unless I'm torn up by mutts or I've got a knife in my brain. Or some other twisted way of killing me."

"I still want to be your ally," Tess says quietly, looking right at me. Something about her eyes is unsettling. "Look, I know that I'm going to die either way. I've at least got some chance if I have an ally. We could help each other for a while." I'm about to interrupt, but she continues. "The Gamemakers can't touch you until far into the Games, unless you do something really stupid. The districts that don't have any Career tributes -but also your district- have had some uprisings lately, and there'd be a lot more if the Gamemakers killed you right away. They don't want that. You know that we can help each other in the Games." Her eyes pierce me like knives and stab like swords into me. "Besides, I'd like some rebellion, too," she says surprisingly. "We need something else. No Capitol dictating whatever we do."

"And no Hunger Games," says Haymitch, staring at me. The two pairs of gray eyes and the talk of no Capitol and no Hunger Games are what forces me to make up my mind.

"I'll be your ally," I say. "Even if it gets me killed, I want the Games to end for good."

* * *

My muscles are screaming with exhaustion as I throw a knife at the target. It's very late at night, and I'm in the Training Center gym, training. The Peacekeeper guards all went home hours ago, considering that it's three in the morning. Besides, Finnick came, assuring them that he'd keep me in line. Of course, that could be a bit of a stretch, since he's been sitting around eating piles of sugar cubes and dumping some in his coffee, and he's been forced to sleep with someone once. A slow night, he calls it, but he's so hyper that he makes Haymitch look sane. He isn't too happy with my alliance, though, but I can deal with that later, once he's gotten the sugar out of his system.

The knife hits the very center of the bull's eye, as usual. I manage a weary smile and go over to pull the knife out of the target, but Finnick runs toward me and gives me a hug. Really, I'm starting to see a few unfortunate similarities between him and Haymitch. _Are all the victors this insane?_ I wonder as Finnick squeezes the air out of me. He'd better get over it, since I'm already known across Panem. I don't need my mentor to become infamous. He grins at me. "Good job!" he yells.

"Finnick, maybe you should get some sleep," I say as I retrieve the knife and manage to shake him off of me. "You're going to regret this later, I'll bet." I force myself back a bit and throw another knife. Another bull's eye. I yawn so widely that my ears pop. "Don't bother. I need training. But maybe we both better go up and sleep." I'm getting so tired, my vision blurry and my mind numb. I stagger to the elevator with Finnick. I'm suddenly struck at how young he seems, younger than me. But he's seen so much more. I drag him into the elevator and press the button for our floor.

When the doors open, I stumble through the darkness to my room, shutting the door clumsily behind me. Without bothering to turn on the lights, I strip off all my clothes and flop down in bed, lying on top of the covers. I'm so sweaty that I don't bother with the sheets, just lying here stark naked as my eyes shut slowly and my brain goes numb. But this is the first night that I wasn't preoccupied with ceremonies and Snow, that I am one hundred percent sober. So, for just a moment, I remember home. How I used to be so young, how I used to fall asleep and pretend that I would wake up to a perfect world with no poverty. No pain.

And no more Hunger Games.


	9. Silver Blades

**Author's Note:**

**I'm back! Sorry for the wait. Anyway, chapter 9! I'm so excited that I have made it this far. Getting closer and closer to the Games! I feel like an evil Gamemaker. I've thought of plenty of awful things for my dear little tributes (inserting evil laugh). And since I have never acknowledged it, thanks to all who have favorited and followed! Okay, sorry to self-promote, but I have an SYOT, for all of you people who like SYOTs, so I still need a lot of tributes (hint hint, no pressure at ALL!). Warning: there is some stuff in this chapter that's mature, but I don't go into any very specific detail, since I don't want to destroy anyone's innocence of mind. Anyway. Here is Chapter Nine!**

_Silver Blades_

It goes on for the next day. When all the other tributes go to training, I'm taken by a car driven by an Avox to Snow's torture room, where one of his Peacekeepers electrocutes me constantly, upping the level until I'm screaming at him, cursing the Capitol, and using so many swear words that Snow comes down to 'inform' me that I have 'a mouth full of District trash'. That second day, I manage to spit on the Peacekeeper's clean, perfectly ironed suit, so that's a small victory for me. But Finnick and Mags are pissed at me for getting myself into this. Even though Finnick was rather cranky that day because of another round of sex for him, he said that I'm doing well for training. I can now identify many plants, build a fire without matches, and throw knives that hit the target flawlessly.

And today... I feel the volts of electricity race through my body as I squeeze my eyes shut and pray for it to be over. I get out of it early, but it still feels like forever. And today, we show off our individual skills to the Gamemakers. I know that I'm definitely weakened by this electrocution shit. Otherwise I could pull an eleven, no sweat. But the Gamemakers are sure to give me a one for talking back or something else they can think of. I pause in my thoughts as the Peacekeeper increases the voltage level. I grip the armrests of the electric chair, but that makes it worse. "Damn it! Let me out of this hellhole!" I yell so loudly that I bet they can hear on the first floor.

The Peacekeeper laughs harshly, but undoes my restraints and shoves me out of the chair. "You're done, Reviz," he admits grudgingly. "Go out to the street, and there'll be a car to take you to the Training Center again. It was quite the pleasure to hear you screaming in pain. Made my days as a Peacekeeper."

Well, that's in insult, isn't it? Yeah, sure as hell it's an insult. "It was also quite the displeasure to see your ugly face," I say in a mock Capitol accent. "It made my days as a tribute. The last days of my life, in fact. Isn't that a _pleasure_?" I run away to the elevator and out to the car before I can see the look on his face.

I run straight up to my floor and shut myself in my room quickly, running to the bathroom. I learned yesterday that hours of being electrocuted is never good for you. My heart's beating all too fast, and my stomach is lurching. Then I notice that, while this room is familiar, it is also unfamiliar. Thor's room. "Shit," I groan, holding my stomach. Thor's probably coming up after his session with the Gamemakers, since the male tributes go before their district partners. In fact, I hear his footsteps coming up the hallway. "Shit!" I say again, trying to open the door, but I think it must have locked behind me.

A very sweat-soaked Thor barges into the bathroom, with his shirt off. It strikes me for a second how muscular he is. He's going to get a ten for sure. Then the fleeting thought passes when he sees me leaning against the wall. "I don't mean to insult you, but what the _hell_ are you doing here?" he asks. His face softens a bit when he sees how sick I look, but he sighs, sounding mildly annoyed. "Wrong room, Reviz. Hey, do you feel all r- Oh, damn it, don't just stand there!"

I don't protest as he forces me to my knees and holds my head over the toilet, pulling my hair away from my face. "They been electrocuting you, Reviz?" he asks. I nod weakly, desperately trying not to puke my guts out in front of my district partner. "Harsh. Really. Sage can be a bitch." He sees my face. "You're up next for the Gamemakers, but they said that they're having a 'slight delay' anyway, so you've got a few minutes." I grip the sides of the toilet as I gag. Thor awkwardly pats my back. I throw up for what seems like ten minutes until there's nothing left in my stomach.

"Thanks," I mutter, wiping my mouth and flushing the mess down into the sewers. "Sorry I'm such a pain in the ass."

He shakes his head and hands me a cup of cold water with ice. "Here, this'll help," he says. I take the glass and sip from it slowly, spitting in the sink a few times to wash the taste from my mouth. I've never really noticed, but my district partner really isn't that bad. "Hit the bull's-eye every time, will you? So the Careers can waste their time hunting you down. They'll never find you." He grins. "You know, you wouldn't make a bad Career tribute. Except for the rebel thing."

"_You're_ a Career," I say. He nods, shrugging. "Then why are you saying that?"

Before he can answer, I hear Miranda's annoying voice from outside the bathroom door. "Spark! Time to go see the Gamemakers!" she trills, like the Gamemakers are the most amazing people who have ever walked the surface of the Earth. "Come out, come out, come out!"

I step out of the bathroom, with one last hidden glance at Thor, and run to the elevator. "The Gamemakers are twisted, how can you be so excited?" I call as the elevator shoots down. Miranda doesn't answer, and I grin, although I'm a bit nervous. What kind of score will they give me? Something impossible, like a zero or a twelve? Well, technically speaking, the worst you can get is a one and the best an eleven, since the lowest and highest scores are the unattainable extremes. But I know that it'll be nothing like the mediocre sixes and fives that the ones who blend in will get. No, I'll get either very high or very low.

I tie up my hair in a high ponytail, running my fingers through the golden-brown smoothness to straighten it. The elevator chimes as the doors slide open in front of me. I take a deep breath. Knives. I can do this, even though I'm shaky and was vomiting repeatedly only minutes ago. I walk into the gymnasium, and the Gamemakers are eating a banquet set out for them on a huge table. They're all stuffing their faces with pounds and pounds of rich, delicious Capitol food, as they judge tributes on scores that will affect their remaining lives. Well, I know that I'm not going to get any sponsors anytime soon. Even though, by Capitol guidelines, any legal citizen of Panem with enough money is allowed to sponsor me. Rebels aren't counted as legal, and no one from the districts has even sponsored a tribute, excepting a few lucky Career tributes years ago.

The Gamemakers don't even seem to notice me. Most of them have had quite a bit of wine. I walk over the the knife-throwing station and pick up a few knives. This is my moment. The one moment that they can't touch. That they cannot punish or reprimand. I draw my arm back, inhaling deeply. As far as I can tell, the majority of the Gamemakers have turned to watch me. I grip the hilt and squint at the bull's-eye of the target. Everything else fades away except for that center circle. I exhale and throw hard, the knife spinning quickly through the air, cutting through oxygen. And it strikes the target.

The very center of the bull's-eye.

I feel a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth as I retrieve the knife. The Gamemakers are all watching now, curious, mostly all frowning deeply. I turn to them and grin widely, throwing the knife in the air and catching it by the hilt without even looking. Then I turn back to the target, hitting the bull's-eye a few times before I realize that that's far too easy for me. I aim a particularly long knife at the ceiling and easily send it shooting through one of the lights on the ceiling, and I sprint across the gym and catch the knife by the hilt when it falls. By now, all the Gamemakers look amazed. Sure, a Career tribute could do this well, but a rebel? Maybe I can scare them a bit with that. I spend my time throwing knives all around the gym, standing at the center and hitting the targets from far back. Soon it's almost like a complex dance of knife-throwing and whirling on invisible enemies. I'm almost in a trance.

Then I'm jerked back to reality by a Gamemaker's voice. "You may leave now, Miss Reviz," he says.

"Damn it," I mutter under my breath. I haven't been all that rebellious, except for shattering a light fixture or two. But I can't really push it unless I want to be so weak that I die in the bloodbath, so I nod at them walk past their table to leave. But the expression in the Head Gamemaker's eyes is unforgiving of my rebellious nature.

Then the Head Gamemaker grabs me by the collar of my shirt and pulls me toward him. "Anything rebellious," he hisses, "anything rebellious at all in the arena, and your next step will trigger a land mine." His breath smells like wine, and he pushes me on my back on the table. The other Gamemakers apparently expect this, because their plates and glasses are already moved aside. I scream at the top of my lungs, but he clamps a hand over my mouth. "If you make one sound, I'll snap your neck," he threatens. He turns to the other Gamemakers. "All of you, leave. Tell the District Five tributes that we have a holdup." All the Gamemakers leave obligingly.

"It's just you and me then," says the Head Gamemaker with a wicked smile. "I heard from your prep team that you dislike rape, is that correct?" I nod, unable to speak around his hand, and bite him while holding up my middle finger. He's quick as lightning from years at the controls of the Games, and he grabs my finger and starts bending it back. Hard. He stops when I scream shrilly. "Ah, so your prep team informed me correctly? How sad, that I won't even let you defend yourself..." He pulls my jacket and shirt off. "With a butter knife."

I'm unable to scream. Just lying on the table, getting raped by the Head Gamemaker. He has precise, thin fingers that pull away all of my clothes until I lie naked on the table. And then... Oh, God, I'm getting raped. Losing my last innocence to a Gamemaker. Eventually, he moves his hand away from my mouth when he really gets going, and I let my moans of pain ring out across the gym. Moaning, moaning, moaning. I start screaming my head off, but he doesn't seem to care. Just caring about raping me. I groan, squeezing my eyes shut. And what seems like a thousand years later, it's all over.

I stand up shakily, rolling limply off the table, pulling my clothes on. "You evil bastard," I say shakily. Tears are streaming down my face, and I don't bother to hide them. Me, Spark Reviz, crying in front of a Gamemaker. "I'm going to start a rebellion. You wait. I'll die, what the hell?" Then I burst into sobs and run for the elevator, pressing the button for my floor quickly, and then I slump down against the wall and sob painfully. I just got raped. I couldn't do anything. I hear the doors of the elevator open, and I run out of the elevator, heading straight to my room.

I lock the door and fall face first on my bed, sobbing.

Finnick rattles the door, pounding on it. "Spark!" he bellows. I never thought that a fifteen-year-old boy could bellow, but that's exactly what he's doing. "Oh my God, Spark, open the damn door!" I just lie on the bed, sobbing. "Thor!" Finnick calls. "Mags!" I hear Thor's running footsteps, and Mags coming, slower than Thor. "Thor, help me with the door!"

After a while, they still can't break it down, and I'm still crying. Then Mags has the sense to ask Miranda Sanrough for a spare key, and of course the door comes bursting open. And they find me. They find me crying and sprawled out on my bed. They find me raped and bruised and sobbing. Finnick is losing it. "Oh my God! What happened to you?" He forces me to face them. He's yelling now. "Do you even _know_ the rumors that I heard? We thought you were dead, Spark!"

"I am," I say between sobs. "They..." I start sobbing again, so hard that I can't speak. Mags sits next to me and embraces me. She smells like flowery perfume, and her old brown eyes are kind.

"Slow down," the old woman says comfortingly, letting me borrow her handkerchief again. I sob into the handkerchief instead. "Take a deep, deep breath. Calm down and try to tell us what happened. Take it slowly if you can't handle it." Her words slowly calm me, slowly, so slowly. I take deep breaths, trying to stop sobbing and catch my breath.

"Everything went fine," I say, wiping tears from my face. "It was all fine, and I didn't do anything stupid. I thought you'd be proud of me, Finnick." Finnick nods, his eyes concerned. "And then when I was leaving, the Head Gamemaker dismissed everyone else and told them to blame a holdup. While he..." I start bawling again, sobbing into my hands. "While he raped me!" I yell. "He raped me!"

Everything is completely, flawlessly silent for a moment. Silence. Then Finnick takes a deep breath. "Oh my God," he repeats, sitting down at the foot of my bed. "No..." This is the polar opposite of the hyper, sugar-high boy from a few nights ago.

Thor, on the other hand, gets straight to the point. "Did he bother to use any protection, Spark?" His tone is deadly serious, no mocking or any humor in it at all. "Tell me. Now."

A wave of sickness washes over me. "No," I say with a moan. "Nothing. I don't... I can't... No. Please." I think I'm talking to myself at this point. Thor gives me a big hug, holding me close to him. I sob into his shirt. "No," I say, trying to pull away, but he won't let me. "You're nothing but a Career. You shouldn't even care. Laugh." But I'm crying too hard to become guarded. "It hurt," I say, my words muffled. "It hurt so fucking bad." I'm crying so hard that it hurts. "I want to go home," I moan.

Mags gives a pointed look to Finnick and Thor. "I need to speak to her privately, Finnick," she says gently. "Could you discuss interview strategies with Thor, please? Spark needs some time alone."

"Hell, no!" shouts Finnick at the top of his lungs. Mags looks a bit disapproving. "I'm going to go down to Snow's mansion and kill him!"

"Well, then I'm coming with you," says Thor, standing up. He looks furious. "How can they just do that? Break their own laws, I mean. And how am I supposed to concentrate on interview strategy when my district partner got raped by a Gamemaker?"

Mags sighs. "Just leave, please," she says. Finnick gives her a dirty look and walks out, sighing dramatically. Thor follows him with one last glance at me. I've stopped full-out sobbing, but I keep having to wipe the tears from my face. Mags looks very sympathetic. "Spark, I'm so sorry that this happened to you. Really, I hope that Finnick can do something about this." She pauses. I'm reminded of that morning on the train, when she taught me how to use silverware, and it hits me with a pang. "Aside from the rape, are you injured at all?"

I shift uncomfortably. "A lot of bruises," I admit. I take a deep breath. "Damn it, Snow even said that that was against the law. How the hell can he just do that? What if I get pregnant? What if anyone finds out? What if... oh, what the hell, I'm dead anyway!" I face Mags. "What am I going to do for the interviews? Tell Caesar Flickerman that a Gamemaker raped me on a feast table in the Training Center? Panem would get a kick out of that."

"Finnick will discuss that with you tomorrow, since he's your mentor," says Mags. "Try to get some sleep tonight. You can to dinner if you feel up to it, and if not, you can just eat here." She stands up, leaning on her cane. "I need to go talk to Finnick about this. Goodbye."

"Bye," I say tonelessly. When the door shuts behind her after a second, I order as much liquor as I'm allowed -twenty bottles of something very strong. Something strong to drink the pain away, and I don't give a damn for the hangover that I'll have tomorrow.


	10. Sweet Lullaby of Home

**Author's Note:**

**I am sorry for the late update. I was visiting my grandparents and had no internet (sob sob). But... Chapter Ten! I'm so glad that I made it this far! I don't exactly know roughly how many chapters this is going to have once it's done, but breaking news: This is going to have a sequel! I know exactly where I'm taking this, and it actually ties into the Hunger Games trilogy, not just the time before. Enough of my rambling on. Thanks to daydreamer626 for reviewing. I really appreciate the feedback. Now, onto this chapter!**

_Sweet Lullaby of Home_

They find me passed out in bed with empty liquor bottles surrounding me. I open my eyes to see Finnick and Mags looming over me, looking like circling vultures to me. Mags looks thoroughly disapproving, although Finnick appears more sympathetic to me. "Spark, get up," says Finnick, nudging my shoulder. I groan, closing my eyes for a second. It's so bright. I shake my head and take a swig from a half-empty bottle, feeling the fire course through me, and with it, a blurry sensation that I love. I realize after a moment why Finnick's staring- I'm lying there naked in bed, sprawled out across the covers. I sit up and see the bruises on my thighs, and I groan. "Get up, Spark, they're televising the training scores."

"And my score will be based on how sexy I look naked," I mutter under my breath. I start to open the door, but Mags shoves my clothes at me. I pull them on, leaving my jacket off. I'm just going to come back here and drink some more, anyway. Finnick is giving me an odd look. "What?" I snarl. "Is it my fault that I got raped?"

"No," says Finnick hastily. I can't manage to open the door myself, so he holds it open for me. "I just meant... exactly how much have you had to drink?"

I hiccup. "Lots," I say proudly, staggering out the door and into the living room, collapsing on the couch. Thor seems to be sneaking glances at me, seeing how drunken I am. Well, of course I'm drunk. Miranda looks horrified at my condition, but doesn't say anything, turning on the television.

I stare up at it. Not much comprehends. Thoughts fly into my mind, and I try to store them away, but they are always replaced by new ones. The boy from One, Silver Pritchall, got a nine. The girl from one, Vibrance Green, got an eight. The boy from Two, who is ironically named Victor Mahiron, of all things, got a ten. I make a mental note to remember him. Of course, Sage Tlavra of District Two gets a ten. I tune out District Three, since it's always boring. But District Four... I listen hard. Thor gets a nine, which makes everyone applaud. My heart pounds and pounds. I need another drink. But no, I look up and see my score.

Ten. The same as the two deadliest Careers.

Everyone's trying genuinely trying to be happy for me. But even Miranda must know by now that I was raped. And that my score likely comes from how sexy my body is. Throwing knives... well, I did good at that, too, I guess. I feel so empty inside. Like somehow has hollowed me out, and there's nothing but liquor in me. I see enough to notice that Tess Xandin of District Twelve -my ally, right?- got an eight.

"I... I gotta go," I mutter, rolling off the couch and dragging myself to my feet. I can't stand this. I stumble off to my room and flop onto a chair, opening a new bottle of liquor. Instead of just tipping up the bottle, I tip back my chair on the back two legs, tilting my head back and raising the bottle. I open my mouth wide and pour the liquor into my mouth, sputtering and choking, but I hold it down. Although I pour half of it on my face.

Then I start thinking through the blur. What if I end up pregnant in the arena? Panic begins deep inside of me. What if the nation finds out that I got raped? What would happen then? What if it wasn't rebellion then? What if it was just ridicule and laughter? I throw down my empty bottle and fall out of the chair, falling to the ground with a crash. I lie there, my face pressed into the carpet, breathing hard and fast. My heart's beating too quickly. A moan escapes my mouth. Then louder. Then even louder. My stomach's complaining from all of the liquor, and I keep swallowing my saliva, trying not to throw up again. I feel so weak. So dead. Why can't I get myself to stand up again?

I hear someone opening the door, and then they're standing over me. "Spark?" they say. Thor. I moan from the floor. I feel his hands on me, and I flashback back for a desperate second. The Gamemaker's pinning me to the table again, and I'm moaning even louder. Then I'm back in my room, with Thor picking me up. I start screaming my head off. But he just sets me down in my bed, clearing the liquor bottles off of it and tucking me in like I'm a small, vulnerable child. He reaches out to touch my face, but I can't handle it at all. "Don't touch me!" I yell, punching him in the face. His nose is bleeding. "Don't touch me!" I start sobbing, burying my face in my hands. "Don't!" I bawl.

Mags and Finnick come in, looking concerned as usual. "Spark, what's wrong?" Finnick says gently.

I manage to get the words out between sobs. "I can't do this anymore!" I sob. "I- I wanna go home!" I reach for a bottle of liquor, but Mags slaps my hand away.

"You've had far too much of that already," she says, throwing the bottle in the trash, along with the rest. Finnick helps her pick them up when she can't bend down far enough to reach the floor, what with her cane. I keep sobbing. Mags pats my shoulder kindly. "Calm down. It's okay."

"It's NOT okay!" I yell, sobbing. "It's never going to be! I got raped and I'm going to die! And you think that it's okay! _It's not!_" I just want to go home. Back to my grandmother and the fishing boat and Jake Paylor and safety. So I just lie here and cry.

Thor looks up. "Mags, Finnick," he says quietly. "You should go. I need to talk to Spark alone." Mags scowls suspiciously. "It's not like I'm going to hurt her, I promise," he adds.

They leave after a minute. I'm still crying, but not as much. Thor wipes the tears from my face. "Spark, I'm not going to tell you that it's okay," he whispers. He looks at me with deep brown eyes. "Just try to sleep, all right? It'll feel better in the morning. Just close your eyes." He tucks the covers up to my chin.

Then he does something that makes me almost cry again. With longing. With longing to go back home. But I relax. He is singing softly, the song that the district sung at the reaping, that everyone in the district knows. He has a beautiful voice, not harsh as would be expected, not too deep. And the lyrics and the soft, repetitive pattern lull me to sleep. The sweet lullaby of home.

_"Here we are again_

_Death is not far again_

_Here we go again_

_Feel the wind blow again_

_Sing in the trees again_

_Feel the sea breeze again_

_Dance through the street again_

_Darling we'll meet again_

_But swiftly flies the tide_

_Darling, I'm by your side."_

* * *

I wake up with a hangover that could break any record. My head is pounding, and I'm soaked in my own sweat, having kicked off all my covers in my sleep. I feel like I'm going to throw up. But of course, I hear Miranda's high-pitched voice telling me to come to breakfast. Damn, that hurts like a stab in my head. And today's interview day, spending the day preparing with my mentor and Miranda. Shit. I groan and roll out of bed. My clothes are sweaty and disgusting, so I just strip and pull on undergarments, jeans, and a green shirt, walking out barefoot. My hair's a complete mess of tangles. My eyes, ringed with dark circles that make me have an uncanny resemblance to a raccoon, are bloodshot and blurry.

When I sit down, even the Avoxes stare. Good thing that their mouths aren't hanging open like Finnick's, or I'd probably throw up right here and now. "What?" I mutter under my breath. Then I remember. The rape. The score of ten. Getting drunk. Thor singing to me... I thought that it could just be a nightmare, and when I'd wake up, it'd all be gone.

"Don't you want any food?" Miranda screams. I flinch. Ouch, that hurts like hell. I shake my head with a moan.

"Shut up, I don't feel good," I groan. They're talking too loud for my pounding head to cope with.

"Do you need some water?" says Thor, pouring a glass of ice water for me and pushing it across the table. He's being awfully nice to me for an enemy, and a Career at that. But I accept the water, cautiously taking a tiny sip, trying to calm my stomach. But, naturally, it just gets worse. I lean over and throw up all over the lush, expensive carpet. The liquor keeps expelling from my body. Finnick has the sense to get a bucket, and I just vomit into that, the half-digested liquor splattering the bottom every few seconds. Thor holds my hair away from my face, soothing me. It takes a while before I stop, and by then I'm trembling and soaked in sweat again.

Finnick helps me out of my chair. "You should take some medicine," he says. "I'd tell you to lay down, but every second counts today. And besides, the Capitol's medicine works better." He manages to drag me into my bathroom and forces me to swallow two brightly colored pills. Instantly, the sickness and headache start fading away. Damn, I'd give all my money to get the districts some of that stuff. "You okay now?"

I nod. "Yeah, I'm fine," I mutter -lying- as I go back to the dining room. The Avoxes -who I pity so much right now- have already cleaned up all of my vomit, even served new food. I'm still not that hungry now. I sit down and turn toward Finnick, trying to ignore the looks that I'm getting from Miranda, Thor, and Mags. "So, what are you forcing me to do today? Prepare for three minutes of lying?" I ask.

Finnick looks a bit nervous for a moment, and a flicker of youth crosses his face. Somehow, it's hard to remember that he is two years younger than I am. But then he attempts a smile and speaks. "You'll be working with me and Miranda today. Lucky you, you've got Miranda first." I groan, thumping my fist on the table in annoyance. Finnick's grin widens when he sees Miranda's affronted look. "I'll be working with you on an interview angle, and Miranda will help you with appearance. After that, you'll be prepped again and then, the interviews."

I have a feeling that this is going to be a long day. Between, of course, the preparation and telling a thousand lies.

* * *

"Chin up, chin up!" wails Miranda. I glare at her and tilt my head down and scowl at the floor instead. She's trying to prepare me, make me have more manners. Yeah, that's likely. So I guess I'll have to be tidy and clean when I kill other tributes, then. Early on, I asked her if I was going to have to smile at the audience as I get violently killed. If looks could kill... well, I'd be long dead and buried by Miranda and wrapped in bright pink ribbons if she had her way. "I said, put your chin up and smile, for pity's sake!" I look up, and she looks hopeful, but I just spit on her shoe.

After her panic attack that lasts about five minutes, she pulls me into a long gown and shoves a pair of high heels on my feet. I feel about a foot taller. I'm good and steady now, but when I try to walk in the high heels, I wobble and fall every time. "Isn't it time to quit?" I moan, pulling myself off the carpet with a groan. "No fucking way will my stylist make me wear _this_ shit."

Miranda squeals indignantly. "Poor Finnick!" she hisses like an angry cat. "He's got the unlucky job of giving you an interview strategy! How about uncivilized and barbaric? That describes you very well!" I nod and smile, just like she's been telling me to do for hours.

"Thanks!" I say with a grin. "I just love being a barbarian." I hitch up the dress to the middle of my thighs and kick off the high heels. "Well, I bet I've got to go out there stark naked and showing off my sexy body." I grin at Miranda's horrified expression. I look at the clock. Time for discussing interview strategy. Shit. Actually, it'll be nice to get out of this torture. The dress clings to my sweating skin. "Finnick!" I yell. "Come save me!"

Finnick mercifully opens the door to see me tear off the dress with a wild yell of happiness. I fling the high heels at the wall and pull on my normal clothes. "Oh, Spark," he says with a smile, taking a swig of sugary coffee. "You just try to leave destruction behind you, right?" I nod. "Come on."

* * *

We spend so long talking about my interview strategy over mugs of coffee. Finnick naturally dumps sugar cubes in his mug over and over. I practice so many strategies that my head spins. My false personalities fly by, some turning out better than others. Tough, but I'm not a Career tribute. Arrogant; that works out well for me. Slutty and cocky, which doesn't require much effort for me. Gushing, but I hate the Capitol too much to lie. Sarcastic, which is perfect when combined with arrogance. Pleasant, but I start yelling too much and cursing the Capitol. Weak, which I am far from. A lot of those strategies go right down the drain. I do best acting sarcastic and arrogant.

"You still need to get rid of the swearing," says Finnick, dumping a handful of sugar cubes in with his coffee and mixing it with his finger. "You know that even little kids in the districts are going to watch this." I shrug. "No, you've got a mouth full of trash, and you need to stop."

"I fucking can't!" I say indignantly, and then I see how I'm proving his point.

"See?" he says. "We'll have you act arrogant and sarcastic. Don't defy the Capitol, raise your voice, swear, or mention... um, your session with the Gamemakers." I frown and take a long drink of my coffee to make sure that Finnick doesn't see the weariness and pain in my eyes. "Please. I don't want you dead because of some stupid comment."

I sigh. "Okay," I mutter. Not knowing what I'm going to do or say at all. Not knowing what I'll answer. "Fine."

Finnick sighs. Then he looks into my eyes. "I just don't want to lose you too quickly," he says. "It's stupid when the odds aren't in your favor, but... it's hard not to like you, you know. If you don't like the Capitol, that."

"You've got that right," I say, draining my coffee. "It'd sure be nice if the odds _were_ in my favor for once." But I'm lying, because I know that they never will be.


	11. More Than Arrogance

**So... Chapter Eleven. I'm already at the interviews! Very soon, let the Sixty-Sixth Hunger Games begin (*evil Gamemaker laugh*). Thank you for reading this far. It makes me happy to know that there are people who read my stories. Thanks to Anarchy Girl for reviewing. And let me welcome Caesar Flickerman! (AKA: The interviews are in this chapter.)**

_More Than Arrogance_

I wince as I look at my naked body in the mirror. My skin is scrubbed perfectly clean and smooth. My hair is straightened to perfection, falling softly over my shoulders. My eyes are shadowed in dramatic dark makeup, deep blue that darkens to purple and then black, with a silver shimmer. My eyelashes and eyebrows are darkened a bit, but not too much. Whatever kind of look September's going for, it looks fine so far. But being with my prep team's a pain in the ass, since they're all terrified of me.

"I look like a whore," I say, staring.

All of the prep team gasps in horror, but then laughs stupidly. "Oh, you're not going out there naked!" shrieks Opal. I associate her with a high-pitched voice screaming for Peacekeepers now. "Wait till you see your dress! It's stunning!"

"You don't have to wait," says September, closing the door behind him as he enters the small room. The two rings in his lip glint in the light when he grins. "Close your eyes, though, Spark. I want it to be a surprise." I nod and close my eyes, seeming obedient, but my hands clench into fists. I've been on edge ever since the rape. But September's fingers, smooth on my skin, never linger on me longer than necessary. I feel something silky being pulled over my skin. The dress is very tight on my body, and extremely short, as far as I can tell. I hold onto Isabella Marie's chubby arm as I step into a pair of high heels. Then someone slips a heavy necklace over my head, the thick metal cool on my skin. "Okay," September says. "You can open your eyes now."

I open my eyes, and I have to suppress a gasp. My dress is very, very short, not even covering my ass all the way. The skirt part is looser than the rest, which is very tight on me. The dress is very deep purple with hints of dark blue, with flashes of black and silver, which makes it look like the fabric hides a collection of knives. The front of the dress is cut lower than anything I've ever worn. The high heels are slim and silver. The necklace is a thick chain that is cold on my bare skin. No, I don't look too feminine. I look tough. Like I'm worthy of the arrogant and sarcastic angle that Finnick wants me to play. And I like it.

"Thanks," I say, and I mean it. I even smile, which isn't that common for me. Especially lately, since I've always had to divert my mind away from the problems I have. The Games, the rebellion that I want to start, the rape... It's too much, sometimes, but I mean it right now, that I'm happy. "It's... dark. But beautiful."

"Just like you," says September, with a grin that makes me notice how white his teeth are compared to his dark skin. "Dark but beautiful. You're going to be a hit out there with the crowd."

"I'm not going to _be_ a hit, I'm going to _get_ hit. And tortured. But what the hell does it matter?" I say with a shrug. "I'm going to the Games tomorrow."

September smiles sadly and opens the door. "Let's head to the elevator," he says, checking his watch. "Time to go." He beckons for me to come, and all of us clear out. I see Thor, his stylist, and his prep team all waiting at the elevator. Thor isn't dressed like me at all, wearing a tuxedo. He looks a bit annoyed with his outfit; he keeps adjusting his tie. He sees me and whistles appreciatively, and I shrug. We crowd into the elevator as it goes down, heading to the bottom floor. The interviews take place on a stage set up in front of the Training Center. I wipe my sweaty palms on my dress, suddenly feeling a bit nervous.

_Arrogant and sarcastic,_ I remind myself forcefully as I get in line with the rest of the tributes, behind the District Three male and in front of Thor. _Arrogant and sarcastic._

We go out in a single file line to the stage to a huge round of applause from the crowd. I want so badly to flip them off or something, or at the very least, glare at them. But, of course, I'd get myself killed _ever_-so-violently by the Capitol in the first second of the Games. So I just sit down in my chair unceremoniously, smoothing all three inches of the skirt part of my dress under my thighs. The whole Capitol crowd probably has a first-rate view of my underwear. But, what the hell? I can just portray myself as the arrogant, sarcastic, slutty girl from District Four.

Yes. I can just let the rebellious part of me hide. For now, at least.

The district one female -damn it, I forget her name- walks up to the front and shakes hands with Caesar Flickerman, the interviewer. Caesar's theme color this year is dark green, which makes it look suspiciously like he is growing grass out of his head where hair should be. The girl from One -oh, yeah, Vibrance Green- is very chatty and has a big smile plastered onto her face. Her black hair is curled to perfection. "Oh, Caesar," she says, when asked about the Games, sighing breathily. "This is going to to be _so_ fun." She's so happy about going to her death that I want to puke, but I've done far too much of that lately.

Then, of course, her district partner just has to make it worse. "And now let's welcome... Silver Pritchall!" Caesar yells, and the crowd cheers as Silver comes forward, his brown hair spiked perfectly and his blue eyes glinting with excitement. Bastard. District Two may be deadly, but District One is just stupid through and through. Silver -what a ridiculous name for a boy- chatters on about how great the Capitol is. Both of the tributes from One nauseate me.

Next up is District Two. Sage, wearing a shimmering buttery-yellow gown with glitter in her hair, is very agreeable toward Caesar. "Oh, yeah, this is great," she says with a grin. "They're all going down. And it'll be _me_ who takes them down." It's hard to look sincere and deadly wearing a sparkling yellow dress, but Sage can pull it off scarily well. I start setting my standards much higher.

Victor, the boy from Two, is brutal. "I'm going to kill them all!" he declares right away, with a grin that shows off his blinding white teeth. "You watch! I've already got plans for living in the Victor's Village!" Ugh. Arrogant. I hope I don't sound so stupid. But if you add sarcasm, I think that I'll sound good. Or good enough. What can I hope for, after all? Besides, I'm becoming increasingly unsure of my clothing. All the Capitol women in the crowd are almost fainting over Victor, whose dark skin contrasts sharply with the whites of his eyes and his teeth, along with his white shirt. I'm definitely not going to get a good reaction. Either that, or everyone's going to think I'm a whore.

District Three's interviews are a bit tedious, but interesting when you look beyond the stereotypes. The girl, who has short red hair and wide hazel eyes, keeps insisting that she has a strategy worked out perfectly. The boy, whose name is Voltage Graystone, of all things out there, keeps saying that he'll get home and make his family rich, getting enough money to provide medicine for his sickly little brother. I've got to admit, that's hard to ignore. Pretty touching, the way he wipes away a tear with a halfhearted smile at the crowd when his interview ends.

Then Caesar grins at the crowd, dismissing the boy from Three. "And now, everyone, for our District Four female... Spark Reviz!" The crowd applauds, but I hear whispers. Like a gathering storm, waiting to pour rain down on the Capitol. Only, here, it's different. Here in the Capitol, they're just afraid. And they most likely think that I should have died long ago, but that's too suspicious. Out in the districts, everyone must be holding their breath.

I stand and walk to the center of the stage. Caesar offers his hand like usual. My minding is really racing now, trying to think at a speed that I'm not used to. "No," I say, the microphone making my voice echo around the streets. "I'd probably break your hand." There. Very arrogant, with the perfect touch of sarcasm. I smirk at the crowd.

Caesar laughs boomingly. "You'd better save that for the arena!" he says, grinning. "So, onto the questions." He pauses for the added suspense. "What do you think of your dress? You look quite... provocative."

I grin. This is getting easier and easier, and more fun with every second. "I know," I say. "I love it. My stylist is great." I see September smiling in the audience. "But don't think that automatically makes me stupid. All of you are probably counting me out for the bloodbath right now. But you'd better count me as the victor, because I know that I'm getting out of the arena. Alive, I mean. All of us get out of the arena. But twenty-three of us get out dead." I give my most wicked smile. "And I'm going to be the one who gets out of the arena as a victor."

It's silent for a second, and then the crowd bursts into applause. I sounded... deadly. This is so fun! I feel like a Career now. "Bravo, bravo!" cheers Caesar, clapping politely. He smiles kindly. "Now, do you have any strategies planned for the arena? It certainly sounds like you do."

I forget about not swearing. "Hell, yeah!" I say. The crowd laughs. "But I don't feel like saying them right now. You know, the whole nation's watching. Including the other tributes. Still, they're not going to stand a chance against me. At all."

Caesar laughs. "I'll bet so," he says. "Now, what do you think of your training score? A ten. Very, very good. Want to tell us how you got that?"

I try not to let my emotions show. I will never let them know. My training score is officially because of my knife-throwing, but maybe I got a point added -or subtracted- for the sex. "I know it's a good score," I say, grinning. "Less than I should have, though. But I'll let you wait until the arena to figure out how I got it."

Caesar smiles. "Now, Spark," he says, taking a much more serious tone. "I have to ask you a sincere question."

"Well, yeah, that's obvious," I say, grinning. "But go on."

"All right," says Caesar, staring into my eyes. I notice that they are green, matching his hair and makeup, but I bet that he has colored contacts and changes them every year to match his color. "I imagine that all the boys back in District Four want you. Do you have a boyfriend back home?"

I think about this for a second. No, all the boys in the district either are Careers that hate me, fishermen that don't give a fuck, or they're just afraid that I'll get them executed. Except for Thor, who is almost a friend. And Jake Paylor, the rebel from District Eight. But to Caesar, I must look like a complete slut down to my bones. "Haven't settled down yet," I say with a winning smile. "I'll save that for when I'm a victor."

Caesar grins. "You seem very sure of yourself," he says. "Tell me, anyone back home that you want to make it out of the arena alive for?"

I shrug. "I just live with my grandmother," I say. "And I don't _want_ to make it out of the arena alive for anyone. I'm _going_ to make it out of the arena alive." The crowd applauds for what seems like the thousandth time. "The odds may not be in my favor, but damn it, I'm going to _survive_."

The buzzer goes off. Caesar frowns exaggeratedly. "Well, your time is up! It was a pleasure! Let's have some applause for... Spark Reviz of District Four!"

The crowd applauds. Again. I smirk at them again, with perfect arrogance. I walk back and sit down, almost relieved to be out of the spotlight for now. They call Thor, and he's perfect. Although acting a little too much like a typical Career tribute. Slightly boring, but I still listen. I sit politely through the interviews, never looking impressed or overly interested. The District Five interviews are mildly entertaining. The girl, named Brooklyn, is albino. She has white-blond hair, deathly pale skin, and reddish eyes that her red dress and red jewels emphasize. She is tiny, only twelve years old, and around four foot eight in height. But she makes up for her looks with her tough personality. "Just because I'm young doesn't mean that I'm going to die right away," she says with a grin. "You always think of twelve-year-old tributes as innocent. But I'm not innocent at all. And you'll see that when I'm in the arena." Her district partner, though, is so boring that I almost fall asleep right here and now.

The District Six interviews are humorous. District Six has a bad reputation for being drug addicts, and these two tributes prove that. Yellowish, waxy skin, big, bloodshot eyes, thin as skeletons. The girl tribute sings a silly little children's song and dances around the stage, dragging Caesar behind her. The boy tribute is even worse. He just stands there and stares at the crowd with those big brown eyes until the end. At the very end, he screams his head off and runs away when the buzzer goes off at the end of the three minutes. I start to respect Caesar Flickerman's patience now.

The District Seven tributes are nearly as intimidating as the Careers. They're both strong from chopping down trees. The girl, Willow, is built very large and muscular. If it weren't for her makeup and dress, I could have confused her with the male tribute. Her partner, Alder, barely says a word the whole time, answering Caesar's questions in the shortest possible way. Even though he's very strong, he just looks shy.

District Eight's up next. I sit up straighter in my seat, trying not to slouch. But the girl isn't the typical District Eight weakling. She has burn scars on the right side of her face that not even the Capitol's makeup can hide. And makeup can't hide the fact that she's missing her right arm completely, right up to the shoulder. Her stylist thought ahead and decided to put her in a strapless gown that goes all the way down to her feet. Her name, I learn, is Lacey Servena. Her dark hair flows over the blank place where her arm was. When Caesar asks about her, all she says is, "I was in a factory accident a few years back." She's a bit quiet, but sounds tough from the little she says. Her district partner, however, is so boring that I tune out the whole three minutes for the sake of my own sanity.

District Nine and District Ten fly by, and I'm thinking, _They're going down in the bloodbath, I'll bet._ They make me want to fall asleep. District Eleven is just as boring, although Eleven's usually interesting. One of the tributes is a Peacekeeper's son, and the other is a poor girl who lives in a shed, at least according to her. They keep glaring at each other hatefully.

Next is Tess Xandin of District Twelve. My ally, who managed to pull a eight for her training score. She's wearing a shimmering silver dress, with jewels woven into her hair like raindrops. She's very spunky and lively, insisting that she's going to survive the Games. "I've got nine brothers and sisters back home," she says, when asked about her family. "And my mother. My father got vaporized in a mine explosion. And even though I miss him, I don't plan on seeing him soon. So I'm going to make it, in case you didn't catch that." She's so full of life, confident, optimistic. Just what I need in an ally, since I'm one of the worst pessimists around.

Her district partner, Tom, is so boring that I almost fall asleep. The anthem plays, and we all stand up and leave the stage as the Capitol's applause rings in my ears. We get into the elevators -I'm packed in with District Eight and District Ten. Then I go up to my room, wanting to go take a shower, when I remember Finnick. And Mags. And Thor. This is the last time I'll see them. So I go to the dining room instead. Finnick and Mags are sitting at the table. I sit down. "Hey," I mutter, but a smile creeps onto my face. "I did pretty good, didn't I?"

Finnick sighs. "I should've known that you wouldn't be able to not swear," he says with a laugh. "But you did very well." He pauses. "Well... I guess this is goodbye, then."

"Yeah," I say. Then I stand up and hug Finnick. I don't know why, but it's now that I figure out why I like Finnick. It's because he acts older than he is. The arena did it to him. So, if it doesn't kill me, what will it do to me? "Thanks for putting up with me," I say. "You're going to be a good mentor."

Finnick laughs. "Yeah, it isn't easy to put up with you," he admits. "With all of your drinking. But you've got to make it through. Even if they hate you and want you dead, get it?"

I nod and turn to hug Mags. She hugs me back with one arm, the other leaning on her cane. "I'm going to miss having you around," Mags admits.

"Same with me," I say. I pull away a bit and look at both of them. "I'm going to be the victor, and if I'm not, well, the Capitol's going down with me."

They leave after a few hasty, less heartfelt goodbyes, and I find myself staring at the door. Wondering what I have lost.

Thor comes out of his room. He's only wearing shorts, and his dark hair is wet. "Spark," he says. He doesn't seem to know what to say. "I just want you to know... I don't want you dead, but the rest of the Careers are targeting you. And since I'm with them, I'm going to have to hate you." His eyes demand for me to keep listening. "So don't hate me for it. I'm not going to lead them right to you or anything unless I don't have a choice." He pauses, waiting for me to speak.

I can't really think of anything to say. But I look him in the eyes and nod. "Thanks," I say, and turn away to leave. And I call over my shoulder, "For everything."


	12. Before The Blood

**Hello to all of my readers! Thank you for sticking with this fanfic (if there's anyone who is!). This chapter's going to be shorter than the rest, but the next one will hopefully be up soon, because I've gotten to the good part of this fanfic now. I'm going to be really cruel and leave you all in suspense, since I AM STARTING THE GAMES! (throwing invisible Gamemaker party in the Capitol in which everyone eats a thousand tons of food and pukes it back up like they do in Catching Fire. Or, whatever you're supposed to do at a Capitol party... okay, I'm off topic now.) Onto the chapter! Tell me what you think! Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading! I hope you like the arena!**

_Before the Blood_

I can't sleep. I can't even keep my eyes closed. I just lie in bed, eyes open, staring up at the ceiling, shivering despite being under my blankets. I feel almost terrified by this. What's wrong with me? I need to sleep; I can't be tired when I'm in the arena. But I keep seeing the faces of the other tributes in my mind. Their names -at least, the ones that I know- are replaying in a hideous song. Even the Careers. Silver... Vibrance... Sage... Victor... Voltage... Thor... Brooklyn... Willow... Alder... Lacey... Tess... Tom... It's like I am being taunted right now. Speaking of taunted, I can almost smell President Snow's roses. I remember the stupid little things about them. The scar by Silver's eye, Vibrance's sleek black hair, Victor's almost-shaved head, Sage's freckles, Voltage's wide eyes, Thor's sympathetic grin, Brooklyn's red eyes, the hyperactive happiness of the girl from Six, Willow's thick build, Alder's quiet voice, Lacey's lack of one arm, Tess's sarcastic grin, Tom's plain gray eyes... Oh, God, what am I doing to myself now? I groan and roll over in bed. I'd better sleep. I've got to sleep, rest up for the Games.

"I'm coming back," I mutter sleepily to myself. But I can't convince myself at all. I'm still afraid... No. I can't make it sound fancy or less stupid. I'm scared. I'm scared. I'm terrified. Inside, a hysterical part of me is begging me to scream and cry and run back home like a little child. "I'm comin' back."

But that's so stupid, because I'm lying to myself. I love the lullaby of lies that I tell myself. Coming back. Back to District Four. I imagine it again. Gran's house, windswept and tiny. The endless green-blue sea, stretching out for what seems like infinity. The fishing boats, the decks cleaned, and the men throwing the nets over. Gran's wrinkled face, even more wrinkles at the corners of her eyes from smiling. My district token, still resting on my bare skin right now. The beaches, littered with seashells that the children of the district pick up and collect. Even right before I got reaped for the Hunger Games, I still admired the seashells, even though I'm seventeen. The white sand on my bare feet. Jake Paylor laughing on the boat. And the song. Everyone singing happily to their families. _Here we go again..._ Yes. Here we go again to our deaths. Again and again. So many tributes have died already. And I can add myself to the list in my dying moments. Because I'm sure that whoever, whatever kills me, the death will be drawn out to please the Capitol's audience.

Oh, damn it. I could really use a drink now. I even get up and get some nice, strong liquor to twist up my mind and make my body dizzy. I try to take a drink, even open the bottle. But I can't. I'm not that stupid. I can't get myself drunk right before the arena. But there's an even more rebellious, bitter part of me that thinks, _I'm going to die anyway, so why the hell shouldn't I get drunk? Maybe..._ I suppress my feelings, biting my lip so hard that it bleeds. _Maybe, if I get drunk now, it can numb the pain when I get killed tomorrow._

But I never drink a single sip. So the bottle of liquor lies on the table, untouched. And my district token, the necklace chain with a flat shell hanging from it, twists around my neck as I thrash around. Choking me. Suffocating me. Strangling me. I gag and spit, my fingers fumbling with the chain, but then I realize that it shouldn't matter. After all, there's worse in store for me tomorrow. So I let myself choke and gasp for air all night long. Until I somehow fall asleep.

* * *

I'm woken early by my stylist. He hands me a very simple dress, and I pull it on quickly. "Time to go, Spark," he says, leading me out of my room up to the roof. The sun hasn't even risen yet. One second, there's nothing up here but us, but then when I blink, there's a hovercraft. A ladder drops down, and I step toward the hovercraft, starting to mount the ladder. But some kind of electric current freezes me into place before I can climb. I am lifted into the hovercraft, getting a last glimpse of predawn sky.

I'm still glued to the ladder with the electric current, but a man wearing a white coat that looks suspiciously like a doctor's uniform comes up to me. Oh, damn it, he's holding a syringe with a huge needle. "This is your tracker," he says monotonously. Without waiting for me to even acknowledge this, he grasps my arm and pushes the tracker under my skin on the inside of my forearm. I wince as he pulls out the needle.

After that, it's almost like a blur. I should be thinking of these last, seemingly precious seconds as priceless, but nothing really happens that is worth remembering. The ladder is lowered for September, and then a young Avox leads us down a hallway to a room with a table that is heaped with food. Despite the dull ache in my stomach from nervousness, I try to eat as much as possible, drinking a lot. Who knows when -or if- I will ever get the chance again? I eat so fast that I actually feel full, and I can't hold any more water. When I can't eat any more, I look out the windows. We're flying above Panem so fast. Like I'm watching my _life_ fly past.

Then, after a while, the windows are darkened, and I can't see anything out of them. We must be nearing the arena. I swallow hard, trying not to think about the fear combined with all the food that I just ate. The hovercraft lands, the ladder stretching down underground into the catacombs and halls under the arena. Only, it feels oddly deep. How far under are we, exactly? Much farther than we should be. But finally, after we're done, we follow instructions and maps to my Launch Room. At least, that's what they call the preparation rooms in the Capitol. Back home, we call it the Stockyard.

There'll be Capitol citizens here later, after the Games, touring the place where I went before I died. Having fun. I remember Vibrance's breathy laugh in her interview. _Oh, Caesar,_ she said. _This is going to be _so_ fun._ Maybe for her. Maybe for the Capitol. Later on, the citizens of the Capitol will tour the arena and go to the sites of brutal deaths and take pictures.

What the hell is wrong with them?

I take a quick shower, brushing my teeth and drying my wet hair. September pulls my hair back in a thick fishtail braid down my back, then hands me a package of clothing. Same for every tribute. We're all dressed alike. To them, we're just the tributes. I cautiously examine the clothes. Undergarments, brown pants made of a durable material, a tight dark brown shirt that buttons up the front, a jacket made of heavy, durable, black material. The socks are skintight and black, and the shoes are heavy hiking boots that lace up all the way to my knees. I look at myself in the mirror. "Hell, I look like a tribute now," I mutter under my breath.

September laughs and hands me something. "Here," he says, slipping my necklace over my head. "Your district token." I grin halfheartedly. "Pretty necklace. From your grandmother?" I nod. "Well, you're all ready. A little late, actually, since we're so far underground." He somehow emphasizes these last few words, and a chill goes up my spine. "So you'll be called in a few minutes. Do the clothes fit you okay?"

"Fine," I say, swallowing hard. I feel a bit sick. This is my one shot. This is my only chance. My last few minutes that I've got to live. Then a pleasant female voice comes on over the speakers. Saying that it's time to prepare for launch. My stomach knots, and I take a deep breath, forcing my feet onto the metal plate.

As the glass cylinder lowers down over me, September looks at me. "Spark," he says quietly. "You're the best tribute out there. Even if you think you're not going to make it through, so..." I can barely hear him anymore. "May the odds be in your favor."

Then I'm rising. Rising into the arena. Rising above ground and rising to meet my own death. I'm rising more than usual, to compensate for how far I am underground. It strikes me as strange, in a way. What was it that September said? _... Since we're so far underground._ That can't be normal. My stomach clenches. Is it something about the arena? Maybe there's a lava pit or something horrible like that to kill us. I'm almost sure that it's the arena. I shiver despite the sweat that makes my skin slick. I bite my lip. Here I am. Here, here, here in this damn arena. Fuck those Gamemakers... whatever they did can't be good. Actually, I shouldn't think that, since I literally got fucked by a Gamemaker._  
_

Now I'm rising above ground, and I have to blink to make sure that I'm not imagining it. No, it's real. It's all real. And as I see the looks of complete bewilderment on the faces of the other tributes, I know that I'm right now.

Because here are the tributes, circled at equal distances around the Cornucopia. Here are the supplies and weapons. Here is the golden horn of the Cornucopia, glinting orange in the light. Here is the flaming red-orange sky that makes me think of a vivid sunset. Here is the dusty, reddish dirt that makes up the ground.

And here is the emptiness that stretches for miles, only interrupted by the ring of tributes, supplies, and the Cornucopia.

But I squint as the clock of sixty seconds ticks down. The ground. I see it now. In the spots where the reddish dirt has blown away on the strong winds that whip us, I see solid stone. And pits, stretching deep into the ground, darkness following. But not traps to kill the tributes. So what are they? And then I see what September meant. _So far underground._ Yes, he was right. As I stare around, my mind confirms it, and I'm not the only one that realizes this.

The _real_ arena is below our feet. A system of caves and tunnels.


	13. Afraid of the Dark

**Hey guys! Thank you very much for reading this! I'm very sorry that I couldn't update sooner, since I've been busy. I only have three more days left of school, so I may update more in the summertime. Unfortunately for you readers out there, I am actually writing my own book that I made up myself that is not fanfiction, since I want to be an author someday, and I will be working on that a lot over the summer. So no guarantees! I hope you enjoy the bloodbath chapter and the start of the arena! Although I leave you guys at QUITE the cliffhanger. Also, thanks to Sabrina Mellark for reviewing! Oh, and I forgot to acknowledge LoganSaccularius (guest) for the review. No offense, but open your eyes. If you think that Spark has no flaws, then you must have skimmed all the chapters. And she isn't a 'hero'. Since when are tributes in the Hunger Games called heroes?**

**Oh, and happy early Memorial Day!**

_Afraid of the Dark_

The seconds are ticking down. I tear my eyes to the other tributes. The Careers look mildly confused, even. Stupid. But then I see something that makes my blood go cold. The redheaded girl from District Three. She's tearing pearls off her pearl necklace, which is evidently her district token. And she throws them at the metal plates of other tributes who are far enough away from her that she would survive in an explosion. Which is a flawless plan, since she has good aim, and it barely takes any pressure at all to set off a land mine. In fact, in the second Hunger Games, I heard that a gust of wind set off the land mines of half the tributes.

So she_ does_ have a plan, after all.

And there's a pearl flying toward my metal plate.

_Bong!_ Before I can do anything, the gong rings out, and the tributes leap off their land mines. But... I don't. I bet that anyone who cares about me at all is cursing their television, but I don't move. I still feel an odd sort of tingling beneath my feet. Almost like the land mine is still ready to blow. It must be, right? The Capitol would do this, blow me up by 'accidentally' keeping my land mine ready. It isn't the first time that type of thing has happened. And it will, if I don't react quickly enough. There's no way that I can catch the pearl without blowing the mine off under my own feet. And of course, I'd die. I've already lost an advantage. Are they ever going to turn it off?

Then I see him. Silver, that bastard boy from One. Running toward my plate. "Hey, Sparky!" he yells. "You too wasted to move, you stupid slut?" The words fill me with anger. How did he know that I got drunk? Oh, well, I'm about to die anyway... Wait. The pearl's very close. And so is Silver. If I time this right, perfectly, I can blow Silver's face off and save myself. He's yelling something else, standing right next to me for a second. Just one moment... just one more second...

As soon as the pearl is about to hit the plate, I leap right off of it and somehow jump onto Silver, onto his back, and I shove him down towards the explosion.

His head literally gets blown off, my body getting showered in blood and bits of slippery, warm flesh. And I can finally run! I blink Silver's blood out of my eyes and stand up, looking up at the sky for a second. Like my nation's watching, and they are. "Should've turned my plate off," I say loudly, grinning cockily at the sky. "Right?" And then I go for the Cornucopia.

There's a lot of battling at the golden horn, the measly four Career tributes cutting up those who were too stupid to run. The horn's spilling over with weapons and supplies. I can't resist it. I scan the arena quickly, and then I see where to go. At the heart of the fighting, there's a large brown backpack stuffed full of supplies. And next to it, a pile of throwing knives. Perfect. I take a deep breath and sprint into the fighting, pushing the girl from Eight -who is surprisingly alive- aside. I grab the backpack easily, sidestepping Victor's punch easily and swinging the straps of the pack onto my shoulders. But I can only grab two knives and stuff them into my pack before I get slammed to the ground.

Victor's face looms over me. "You think you can live through this, bitch?" he asks, kneeling on my hips so I can't get up, much less sit up. "Well, too bad!" His hands position around my throat to choke me. "Oh, and nice face." I feel something wet trickling down the right side of my face. Blood. Then I notice the pain. I guess I got hit with shrapnel. Damn it. Then his hands clasp around my neck. I gag, squirming uncomfortably, spitting a mouthful of blood in his face. But then I remember my knives. His hands are occupied with choking me, so my hands are free. Big, big mistake. I reach for a knife and manage to rake it across his arm before he sees.

"You bitch!" he yells, lifting his hands off my throat to examine the wound. I take my chance and stand up, making a run for it. I stagger off as fast as I can for the nearest opening in the ground. I swear, some rope would be useful right now. I glance down for a second into the hole. The red dust swirls around my feet as I stare into the darkness. I have no idea how far down it is. Oh, well. I pull the backpack securely onto my shoulders and jump straight down through the darkness.

My feet hit the ground after seconds of whirling through the darkness, head over heels. I run straight into a wall, swearing under my breath. Then my eyes start to adjust to the darkness better, and I see where I am. A system of caves and tunnels, just like I thought. There are some areas where I see dim electricity. I guess that's for the viewers, so they can see what the tributes are doing. But behind me is a tunnel that would barely fit me and would force me to get down on my belly and push my backpack ahead of me. To both sides, there's solid gray rock. Water drips from the ceiling, so at least I won't dehydrate. And ahead of me is a sort of pond, filled with dark water. And after that, nothingness.

I decide to go forward, but slowly. They wouldn't kill of a tribute with some kind of mutt _already_, would they? Even including me, that'd look downright suspicious, and the districts would be boiling with anger. So I kneel down under one of the dim yellow light bulbs on the ceiling of the cave and cup my hands, drinking so much water that my stomach starts hurting. Well, as long as I'm under this light, I may as well go through the contents of my backpack.

I open it up, first finding my two precious knives. One of them is still tainted with Victor's blood. I wash it off and dry it on my jacket, shivering, glad for the extra heat that it provides down here. I pull out a thin sleeping bag made of black fabric. Good, that could be of some use. I pull out a very large water bottle and immediately fill it up. There's also a small but empty container, which could be useful. All that's left now is a package of four small crackers and -my heart leaps- a flashlight. Now, _that's_ useful here. Only, the light could give away my location, and batteries eventually die, so I decide to use it only when I have to. But, really, couldn't they have put some more food in this thing?

I try to reorient myself. The red sunset sky and the turbulent morning have confused my internal clock. I reason that it's about half past time in the morning, since the Games start at ten. I'd better eat in an hour or so. But I've only got crackers. Oh, well. I survived the bloodbath, didn't I? Yeah, I did. And that's far more than I expected.

_Better get moving,_ I think blearily, but then I remember the metal shrapnel lodged in my face. I groan and lie down on the rock ground uncomfortably, washing my face with some water from the pond. An involuntary groan, like the ones that I remember all too well from the rape, comes out of my mouth as I carefully pull on the piece of metal embedded right below my right eye. I pull hard, and a gush of blood comes out, along with a piece of my metal plate. I pocket the sharp piece of metal, thinking that I may be able to use it as a weapon of some sort. But right now, I need to stem the flow of blood from my cheek. It's spattered all over me. I notice, though, that there's an extra bit of fabric on my backpack, so I press it to my face, sticking it there with my own blood.

I look behind me, then ahead. Which way should I go? I really need to get moving, since there might be other tributes coming soon enough. Behind me... I have no idea what that leads to. And in front of me... I start to notice a rushing sound. Like a waterfall. Maybe that's the dark drop-off at the end of the pond. I hitch the backpack onto my shoulders and step into the water. It goes all the way up to my shoulders, so I expect the backpack to be soaked. But the fabric just appears to be slimy. "Waterproof," I mutter, a small grin coming to my face. That's useful. Even though my entire body is soaked. I wade forward for a second, and then it goes over my head. I come up spluttering. "Damn it!" I say, spitting water.

Well, here's where my heritage of District Four comes to good use. I spring off the rocky bottom of the pond and launch myself forward, slicing like a shark through the dark water. I tread water on the edge for a second, hoisting myself up onto a rock at the edge and sitting. I pull my flashlight out of my pack and click it on, shining it down into the deep hole. I see a rocky chamber with a pool of water at the bottom, along with some puddles. Great. I'll have to ride the flow of the water down. I wish I had some rope. But, what the hell? I've always been too reckless for my own good. I turn over in the water, floating on my back and drifting lazily toward the waterfall.

Suddenly, when I least expect it, the water gets louder, and I'm plunged down... down... down into darkness. I can't see anything at all. I can only feel the pain of rock smashing against me, water choking me. But after a few seconds, I smash down hard into a pool of water, causing a huge splash. Luckily, it's not deep. I swim out quickly, leaning against the wall and panting. My clothes are dripping onto the ground. I sink down and sit, wringing out my jacket. Well, at least my backpack's dry, and its contents with it. I start shivering and wish desperately that I'd gotten a few matches. But there's nothing down here to use as fuel for a fire but fabric.

I keep walking soon. And then I walk for hours, through tunnels and caverns, crawling on my hands and knees, wriggling on my stomach under rocks that could crush me flat. I have no idea what the time is, so I could really use a watch. Soon enough, I guess that it's afternoon, maybe around five o'clock. Despite my large breakfast, I'm starving. There's water dripping from the ceiling, puddles, and lakes down here, so I'm in no danger of dehydrating to death. But as for food, all that I have is four small crackers.

But when I get to another pond, something hits me. No, not fishing; although I'm an expert at that, I haven't seen any fish at all. But, when I hear the word _pond_, I end up thinking of pond scum and the algae that grows on rocks. All right, so what if it's disgusting? It's something to look for, and since I need to ration the crackers, it's a good idea. I kneel down and examine the rocks. I can barely see the rocks themselves, much less any algae, so I flick on my flashlight for a second. The rocks are coated in greenish-brown slime. Even though it almost triggers my gag reflex, I scrape some off with my fingernails and lick them off. It's sticky, slimy, and coats my tongue. I swallow, and it almost comes back up again. Here I am, the infamous Spark Reviz, eating algae and pond scum in front of the entire nation of Panem. But if I eat enough of it, it could be filling for now. And I need my own life to win the Games.

I sit there, next to the pool of water, eating the algae off rocks. I remember my container and start to collect it in there, in case I have to move. I decide to make camp here for tonight, since I've gone for miles. I keep eating until I feel full and very queasy. Okay, maybe there is some kind of bacteria in that. But it fills me up for now, so I eat until half the rocks are scraped clean. And that's a lot, considering that the rocks are very large and are in ample quantity.

I start to hear the cannons of the fallen tributes from the bloodbath. I count on my fingers every time I hear a new cannon. One... two... three... four... five... six... seven... eight... nine... ten. Ten tributes dead already. I sigh in relief, glad to be rid of all of them. With every cannon, I'm closer to making it out of here. I just hope that Tess made it... Tess! I'd almost forgotten that I have an ally out here. But where the hell is she? This damn maze. The odds of me finding her alive are very slim.

I reluctantly decide to keep walking, despite my earlier plans of staying here. I fill up my water bottle again, lifting my backpack onto my shoulders and walking along more. More and more, until my vision's going blurry, and I get tired. It must be night by now, so where's the pictures in the sky of the fallen tributes? Just as I really start to think about this, the ceiling of the cave lights up. I shut my eyes reflexively at the bright light after the hours and hours of darkness. Then I squint up at the cave ceiling. Right above me, perfectly in my view, is Silver's picture. I watch patiently, noting all the dead.

Silver. Voltage, the boy from Three. The girl from Three, who almost killed me. The male from District Six. The male from Eight. Both tributes from from Nine. Both tributes from Ten, also. And Tom, Tess's district partner. They're all dead. I think about this for a second. Who does this leave? It means that Thor, Silver, Sage, and Thor are alive, making up a four-person Career pack. Both from Three are dead; good riddance. The tributes from Five, including the little albino girl, made it. The male addict from Six -how the hell did the girl escape the Careers at the bloodbath? Alder and Willow from Seven made it. I'm surprised, since I bet the Careers hate Alder for being strong but gentle. The boy from Eight... I'm somehow glad that Lacey, the girl with one arm, made it. Just another slap in the face for the Careers. I'm not surprised that Nine and Ten died out, although Eleven's ultimate survival is a bit of a shock. And Tess is alive.

I keep walking until I find another pond. I realize by then that it must be late at night. So I lay down next to the water, using my very uncomfortable backpack as a pillow, trying to ignore how hard this rock is to sleep on.

That is, I try to sleep, but then I hear the voice.

"Mommy!" someone screeches. A little girl. Oh, damn it, it must be the morphling addict from Six. I roll over and stand up, grabbing a knife and looking at the tiny figure under one of the light bulbs. She's a few minutes away from where I am, by my calculations. "Mommy, I'm afraid of the dark!" The sound of her high -literally high, and high-pitched at the same time- voice sends shivers down my back, and it's not from my wet clothes. I stare at the little girl standing alone in the yellowish, dim light. Acting so much younger than she should because of withdrawal, I suppose. And I can throw the knife from here. I can kill her. I _should_ kill her. But I just can't. Something about that little voice in the dark chills me.

Then I hear her scream. And when I say _scream_, I mean, she shrieks so loud that I flinch. "Mommy!" she yells. I see another kind of shadow then. A silhouette that I'm not familiar with at all. Some kind of... dog? But I've never seen a dog this large in my entire life. My blood goes cold. A mutt. "And where there's a mutt, there's a whole goddamn pack of 'em," I mouth silently into the dark. It's a popular saying about bad luck in the districts.

_There's a mutt, and where there's a mutt, there's a whole goddamn pack of 'em._

Before I can stop myself, I run out into the open chamber where the girl stands. Only, she's not standing anymore. Now, she's on the ground, mauled to pieces. She looks like a pile of meat strips with crushed bone mixed in. A pool of blood soaks my boots when I bend down over her. Her eyes, the whites yellowish in the eerie, dim light, are wide with fear. She's trying not to cry. I look around. No mutt. No mutt. Where the hell is that dog thing that did this to her?

"The dog...?" I ask, my voice rising into a question. The girl nods, a sob wrenching out of her. I feel something die inside of me, but my face hardens. "Where the _hell_ did it go!" I snarl. "Damn it, tell me, you bitch!"

She says nothing, and I'm about to slit what's left of her throat when I hear it. A low, guttural _grrrrrrrrrooowwwl._ From _behind me._

I force myself to turn around, and the last thing I see before I'm pinned to the ground is a pair of yellow eyes.


	14. All Roads

**Hello, people of FanFiction! I've got a nice, violent chapter for you all! I feel so mean, I'm _really_ giving Spark a bad day. Sorry for the delay, I would have updated yesterday, but it was my last day of school (yay!), and we had 80 mile per hour winds and a tornado sighted nearby. And on that happy note, no power for about four hours. Which meant no internet connection on my laptop. But here's Chapter Fourteen, after this long wait! Tell me what you think!**

_All Roads_

The dog's claws dig into my shoulders. My first thought is, _it's huge._ And damn it, it's twice as large as any medium-sized dog. Its breath stinks like meat. In fact, some of the District Six girl's blood is dripping from its teeth. Its claws have ripped the shoulders of my jacket. Then it lifts up its head, just as I'm about to reach for my knife, it howls, long and loud. The sound chills me, and I try not to shiver, for fear of it feeling my motion. Then I realize. It's calling for the rest of the pack.

I can't reach my knife. It got knocked out of my hand when I went down, and it's a few feet away from my fingertips. I stretch my arm out fruitlessly as the dog bears down on me. I start writhing as it leans its head down, those bloody teeth millimeters away from my eyes. Then it almost casually bites down on my neck, its teeth sinking into my flesh.

I start gagging. The pain is almost blinding. I feel like I'm about to get my neck crushed. I roll over as hard as I can and hear the sound of my own flesh ripping like torn paper. A flash of pain makes me whimper like a wounded animal. The creature is aiming for my neck again, but I manage to grab my knife and cut its stomach. Damn it, not a fatal blow. It closes its jaws over my ankle, and I'm about to get my bones crushed, but I slice open its neck as quickly as I can. It dies slowly, and when it's dead, I pull the teeth out of my leg. The longest ones must be four inches. I carefully extract them from the mouth of the dead mutt, putting them in my jacket pocket. Luckily, I left my other supplies back where I fell asleep.

I hear an odd noise, all of a sudden. Running feet. I look backward instinctively, but the District Six girl is still lying there on the ground, dying, bleeding out. Who the hell is running? Because the placement of what sounds like footfalls is from something with more than two legs. Then I remember. The first mutt howled after it pinned me to the ground. Calling the rest of the mutts to come feast on us, the two injured tributes. And it's probably my fault, since the Capitol is targeting me. Besides, any dog could have smelled the blood from my face.

Shit.

I stand up quickly, trying to ignore the searing pain in my right foot and throat. My blood is wet on my neck. I grip my knife as hard as I can. The little addict bitch from District Six makes a pained sound, and I swear under my breath. "Shut up, bitch, if you know what's good for you," I hiss under my breath. She moans in pain. "All right, you just earned a one-way ticket to hell," I say, grinning despite the pain and the fear, even though the smile's a bit shaky. I kneel next to her. I stare into her deep brown eyes and feel a lump form in my throat. Oh, damn it, what's wrong with me? Maybe I just remember the singing, dancing girl from the interviews too closely. "Look, bitch, I'm going to let you off and just slit your throat. I'm getting it over with for you, you hear me?"

The bloody mess on the ground manages to nod, choking back a sob. Then she opens her mouth, which has a rather unfortunate lack of lips. "Tell my mommy that I miss her."

Ouch. It's like she's just shot me through the heart. I wince. "Look, bitch, she can hear you right now," I say, my knife hand shaking a bit. "I'm doing this for your own good. Or do you really want to be torn up by dog mutts like I'm about to be?" She weakly shakes her head. "Okay, so stay calm. Try to shut up, or the mutts'll come faster." I clamp a hand over her mouth. Then I'm startled by how easy this is for me right now. Like it's normal.

_Yeah, what the hell, I slit the throats of whiny morphling addicts every day,_ I think bitterly, tracing the knife against her throat. I swallow hard. "Right, bitch, no screaming, or we'll have mutts and Careers right here in seconds." Then I try to look arrogant, trying for a smirk, and slice down hard with my knife, slitting it perfectly without decapitating her. _BOOM!_ There goes her damn cannon.

And she didn't even scream.

I hear howls right behind me, and I stand quickly, staggering back and looking over my shoulder. I feel a chill when I see the dogs. Seven of them, at least, and all at least twice my weight. With huge, yellow eyes that glint under the light bulb. And me, the injured girl from District Four, with nothing but her wounded self and a knife. For a second, I hope that they're just passing by or something. But, naturally, the mutts target me right away.

I get knocked into the rock so hard that I see stars explode in my vision when my head hits the ground. The mutt that holds me down is huge, with claws that sink into my shoulders. Fortunately, I'm still gripping my knife this time. That doesn't stop it from hurting, though, when the mutt tries the bite my face. "Ahh, goddammit!" I yell, slashing upward violently. Something heavy and wet splashes down on my legs. I sit up. Well... on the good side, one mutt down, six to go. On the bad side, I'm covered in mutt organs and mutt blood, and I smell like mutt shit.

And I'm standing up again, so I attack the mutts as best as I possibly can. I slash at them as hard as I can, cutting into their sides and spilling more mutt guts on the ground. The air is thick with the reek of blood and mutt shit. I get knocked down a bit, into a pool of water, but that's what saves me. The mutts try to follow me into the water, but they're too heavy, built too compact to float. I kill them easily while they drown. Even though I get scratched up some more, and the water stings in my wounds. And when they're all dead, I'm soaked in blood.

I crawl out of the pool of water, collapsing onto the rock. So... fucking... tired. I manage to peel my wet, limp body off the rock, standing up weakly and staggering into the wall. So... fucking... tired! I groan in pain, touching my face for a second. The shrapnel stab is bleeding again, the bandage lost. My foot isn't actually too bad, just a little sore, with a bit of bleeding. My throat is... well, awful. Every time I breathe, I suck more blood into my lungs. Something must have gotten punctured by the mutt's teeth. I stagger to my feet. Oh, damn it, I'm going to pass out! I'm going to die... gonna die gonna die gonna die...

And I barely make it back to the place where I fell asleep before I black out, landing with a splash in the pond.

* * *

I wake up suddenly after what feels like a while, and the first thing I notice is horrible. I can't breathe. My lungs are filling with my own blood. I try to scream, but I can only make a horrible, loud, choking noise. I gag and try to hurl the blood out of my lungs, but then it just makes me lose more air. I don't know what I'm screaming, but I don't give a fuck about the Careers at the moment. I end up sweating and choking, kneeling on the ground.

Oh, goddammit, I'm going to die! All because I don't have sponsors. Because I just was all arrogant and rebellious... because I'm that stupid! Now it'll be the dead of me, most literally. I can already see my vision start to fade, and my body goes limp, and...

And then I see a patch of sunlight above me. But for only a second. Then it goes away, and there's a silver parachute floating to the ground.

I scramble to untie the strings and open it up. All that I find is a huge syringe, filled with a deep blue substance. And then I see the tiny scrap of paper, reading only a few words, but a few words are enough to save my life if I'm fast enough.

_Spark,_

_Inject this into your thigh. After a few seconds, it'll get into your bloodstream, so if you start coughing up blood, that's normal for this._

_~Finnick._

_P.S.: You have one sponsor. Twelve._

I don't bother to puzzle over the post-script. I grab the syringe quickly, pulling off my pants and leaning against the wall, sitting. I don't care that all of Panem is watching me sit in a cave without pants on. I'm dying, all right? I don't know exactly what to do, so I just place the tip of the needle on my thigh and push down on part of the syringe. The dark blue liquid inside empties into my leg. I wince at the stab of the needle. Damn, that thing is huge. A burning sensation arises. _Ouch! Ahh!_ I think, pulling the needle out quickly.

After a few seconds, I feel something bubbling up in my windpipe. Oh, yeah, the note from Finnick said something about hacking up blood. Well, it's the only way to get it out of me, I guess. I kneel on the ground, pulling my pants back on. I've barely zipped them up again when I start coughing hard, blood pouring past my lips. Oh, fuck, it tastes disgusting. My head is spinning. I press closer to the stone ground and puke up more blood, the red liquid splattering on the ground. Ugh. It's way too much blood coming out of me to be healthy, but since when was dying healthy?

Once a few minutes have gone by, the retching slows down. No more blood is coming out, so I hope that's good. The knees of my pants are stained bright red with my blood from kneeling in the puddle. I take a shaking breath and move away from the pool of blood that came out of me. I realize that I'm already soaked with pond water; I must have passed out and fallen in. I kneel again, retching one last time, but only a small bit of blood comes out. I spit, taking a drink straight from the pond. Now that I'm done puking, I'm starving. Only a few hours have passed, I think, judging by the sunlight. Day two, and may the odds be ever in my favor. I can hardly stomach the disgusting mix of algae, pond scum, and unpurified water that I eat. It looks like sludge, thick and hard to keep down. But I lick the container clean like an animal and fill it up again with a bit of water, adding a few handfuls of algae and pond scum. Disgusting.

I finally get to thinking about the post-script of Finnick's note. _You have one sponsor. Twelve._ Twelve. One sponsor. What the hell is that supposed to mean? I know that it means I managed to pull one sponsor, but... twelve? Surely, that couldn't mean _District_ Twelve, could it? Or maybe it means that my ally, Tess, from District Twelve, has a sponsor, and I have none, but since we're allies, that means one sponsor? But I'm not even with Tess at the moment. So... what could it mean? That I've got a sponsor from District Twelve? I know three people from District Twelve: Tom, Tess, and Haymitch. And Tom's dead. Tess is a tribute, so there's no way she could be a sponsor. I'm putting it together now. But that leaves one option.

I'm being sponsored by Haymitch Abernathy, the drunk victor of Twelve.

It all makes sense now. Tess is from his district, and we're allies. Victors have piles and piles of money that never seems to run out at all, and Haymitch probably has a lot to spare. Anyway, he said something when I went to Twelve's floor in the training center. Something about him liking me, me and my rebellious sarcasm? Something like that. But it's insane. There's only been three known district sponsors in the history of Panem.

But, what the hell? That seems to be becoming my signature saying, but I really don't care. Even though Haymitch did kind of put me on edge, I'm glad that he's sponsoring me. In fact, there's some kind of connecting between us that I feel now. Nothing romantic, since that would be perverted. But we share the same kind of sarcasm, and that makes me feel less alone. Especially now that I've got a mentor and a sponsor looking out for me.

So... day two. I'm really in the Games now. My hand brushes carefully against my throat, but the punctures have scabbed over. My injured foot is healed perfectly, and only after a few hours. Wow, Finnick must have really sent me some potent medicine. Of course, with my luck, I'll probably get high off it. I sigh and hitch my backpack onto my shoulders. Better get going. I keep one knife out of the bag, though, in case I get jumped. Hopefully, no one heard my screaming.

But after a few hours of crawling through caves, getting repeatedly soaked, and going deeper underground, I start feeling... _lonely_. What the hell is wrong with me? I've never really been this lonely in my life. But the only voice I've heard in hours is the little girl from Six, and she barely counts. Nothing but the damn dripping of the fucking water off of the fucking cave ceiling... Oh, God, I'm losing it! My hands clench into fists, and I try to stay calm. I really am losing it. I need a drink. I need a way to make the stupid little voices in my head go to their proper place and _shut the fuck up!_

I lay there on the ground, panting. The rock is slick under my body, since I'm lying flat on my belly, trying not to get crushed by the rock above me. I pause in slithering across the floor, taking a second's rest. I feel a little dizzy from losing so much blood, my head spinning. I close my eyes for a second. I'm so tired still. It's probably around noon on day two, which means that I've eaten nothing but algae and pond scum for an entire day. My stomach's in revolt. My face is still oozing blood, and I'm sure that all of my wounds that I have so far are going to scar.

That is, if I live long enough for them to scar.

I take a deep, deep breath, opening my eyes, pushing my backpack ahead of me through the small space. It hits the ground with a thunk. Good, no water or long drop. I squeeze through the tight space, almost squashed under the giant rock that I'm slithering under on my stomach. I slide out of the crawl space into what looks like a large chamber. Good, a place to run. But there's no lights. Is it a lake? No, I'd hear the sound of water dripping onto water if it was. I stand up, looking around, confused. It's like the world is holding its breath, waiting for me to become vulnerable. So I keep close to the walls of the cave, my back pressed against the rock.

Then I hear a noise. It's soft, quiet, barely noticeable. I stop for a second, just listening. A scowl comes to my face, making a trickle of blood run over my cheek from the wound below my eye. And that's when I realize what the noise is, and my heart stops.

Someone's _breathing_.

Before I can comprehend this and run, a light switches on. A flashlight, in the hand of none other than Sage Tlavra. "Well, well," she drawls, grinning. Behind her are the other three Careers: Vibrance, Thor, and Victor. "Looks like we caught ourselves the little slut from Four. All roads lead to us, Rebel Girl." She grins, shining the light in my eyes. Her face twists into an expression of mocking sweetness. "Awww, poor little Sparky got herself hurt, hmm?" she says teasingly, stepping right up to me. "Where does it hurt? Here? Here?" With each _here,_ she runs a razor-sharp fingernail down my cuts and wounds. I don't show any signs of pain.

"Awww, it doesn't hurt, sweet little Rebel Girl?" Sage teases. The other Careers are laughing. Even Thor. He can't meet my eyes. I'm just glad that my backpack and knifes are still halfway wedged under the rocks, out of the Careers' notice. "Poor little Rebel Girl. No supplies. Hmm, I think I heard some mutts late last night..." She eyes my injuries. "Wonder who _they_ attacked?" she says sarcastically. "Looks like it might've been you, Sparky." She grins wickedly, shining her fucking flashlight right in my eyes. I blink.

"Put the light down, Sage," says Victor, grinning. "You might blind her. And believe me, if she sees, she'll be scarred for the rest of her short life after I'm done with her." I get a nervous feeling in my stomach. He doesn't mean... But he's whispering something to the other Careers that makes Sage crack up laughing, and he keeps glancing at me out of the corner of his eyes. _Not rape again..._

"You're gonna rape her?" says Thor, confirming my suspicions. _SHIT!_ I think angrily. But there's nowhere to run. Damn it damn it damn it! Thor's eyes meet mine for a second, and I feel a rush of guilt twist through my insides. "But she already got raped in the Capitol. The Head Gamemaker, right on the table, in her private session."

The Careers all glance at me and start laughing their heads off. Even Thor is laughing. Part of me wants to kill him for saying that, but the less stupid part of me wins out. I know that he said it for the rebellion, and I love that he did. But I've got the cocky, bad-ass reputation to uphold, so I've got to look like I'm not thinking about the rebellion or myself. "Shut the fuck up," I say, and I'm secretly pleased that I've managed to sound a bit bored. "I'm not knocked up, at least. Sick pervert. Wonder why he didn't do you, Sage?" I ask, grinning. "Maybe I was just sexier."

"You little bitch," she hisses. "You just wait." Then she flicks off her flashlight. I blink away the afterimages. "Come on, Thor, Vibrance," she calls. "Let's go." I hear mutters of agreement, footsteps away. And right before they fade away, Sage calls, "Oh, and Victor? Make it interesting."

Victor grins as soon as they're gone. "Just you and me now, Rebel Girl," he says. Even in the dark, I'm almost sure that he's smiling. I try not to whimper as he pulls my jacket off roughly, reaching down my shirt and touching my chest. Pretty soon, I'm stark naked. And, oh, just _fuck_ the Capitol, since they have the nerve to illuminate the whole motherfucking cave! "It's more fun if you cry," Victor hisses. "It's more fun if you whimper and moan and beg for me to stop."

And pretty soon, it's getting bad. He makes it... well, interesting. Interesting, that is, if you're a complete pervert who likes to watch girls get raped. The entire nation of Panem is watching me. I try to keep my mouth shut, but soon enough the moans spill out of me. I don't cry, but I get loud. And I mean loud when I say it. By _loud_, I mean that I'm screaming. And by _screaming_, I mean that I'm yelling in pain and protest right in Victor's ear. And by _pain_, I mean, _oh, shit, this hurts like hell!_

And what do I mean by that? I mean that I'm getting raped again, only this time, in front of Panem. And there's no place this time without anyone watching where I can drink the pain away and cry until I can't cry anymore.


	15. Nowhere to Run

**Hey, everyone! I am determined to keep this fanfic rated T if it kills me! (Well, not ****_literally_**** killing me...) Am I the only one who thinks that the ratings are weird? I'm not going to say my specific age, but I am under sixteen and have no problem with reading really smutty fanfics. So I'm keeping this rated T, and same with the sequels that I'm planning out. Anyway, I hope the last chapter wasn't too perverted for you. If it makes you uncomfortable, skip the very beginning of this chapter. The rest is still pretty mature. But if you like this story enough. suck it up! (If there's many people out there who like this story.) Thanks for reading! I would really like to hear what you think of this story. :)**

_Nowhere to Run_

I keep my eyes shut the whole time. I can't stand to open them. I probably look pitiful right now, getting raped by a Career tribute. I feel his skin on mine. I feel my limp, tired body, with my hair loose and tangled, sticking to my skin with sweat. We've been at this for hours, and I'm so tired. Victor's voice hisses in my ear. "How is it, Rebel Girl?" he asks mockingly. I feel a jolt of pain go through my body, and a small whimper comes out of my mouth. I bet all the mothers in Panem are covering their children's eyes. "Oh, that wasn't much," Victor says smoothly. "What about now? Come on, sweetheart, let's... see."

A stab of pain wracks my body as he says that last word, and I squeeze my eyes shut even harder. Lights explode through the darkness, and my eyes snap open. "Uhhhhhh!" I groan loudly. I can barely form words. "Son of a- ahhh..." I'm sweating harder now. "Stop it..." Then I feel the blinding jolt of pain again, and I groan again. "Uhhhhhhh!"

I hear the sound of laughter. Rather girlish laughter, at that. I twist my head around to see that Sage, Vibrance, and Thor have returned. Vibrance is the one laughing hardest. "You look so stupid!" she says, with a feminine giggle. She imitates me moaning in pain, exaggerating it. "Hey, Victor, you can stop now. It's been five hours at least. And we've got to eat some dinner."

"Okay, whatever," says Victor. "Give me a minute." He pushes me onto the floor roughly, pulling his clothes back on. "That felt good, didn't it, _sweetie_?" he says, grinning. His hands touch parts of me that they shouldn't, and another groan of pain comes out of my mouth. "I guess not." He wipes his hands on his pants. "Guess what, Rebel Girl? You're gonna stay here with us until we get tired of having you around."

"Motherfucking son of a bitch!" I yell. "You really want all of Panem to see your-"

"Now, now," says Victor, before I can finish. Sage is snickering in the background. "Calm down, Rebel Girl." He's dangling something in front of my face. I go cross-eyed trying to see what it is. "This your district token?" he says tauntingly. I manage to nod, and quick as that, he tosses the necklace into one of the nearby lakes. I try not to let my emotion show, but inside, I'm screaming. I sit up, about to stand, but then Victor knocks me back to the ground. "Not quite, Sparky." Then he starts punching me, kneeling next to me. The other Careers hold my arms and legs down to the floor. I strain at them, but I can't run. With every blow, I feel worse and worse. Then Victor stands up and kicks me against the wall, stomping on me.

"Done yet?" asks Thor after a few minutes of torture have passed. "I'm starving." He sounds perfectly arrogant, just like a good Career, but I hope inside that he's trying to get Victor to quit messing with me.

"Yeah, fine," says Victor, shrugging. He kicks my clothes at me. "Get your own food, Rebel Girl." He grins. "We've gotten a lot of sponsor gifts." The Careers start chowing down on fancy Capitol food and occasionally glance over to laugh at me. I pull on all my clothes again, buttoning up my shirt as fast as possible and zipping up my jacket, pulling my pants back on. I feel so tired. My clothes stick to my sweaty skin. My mouth tastes disgusting. My entire body, but mostly places that I don't feel like mentioning, hurts like hell itself. I feel like I'm going to cry. Or throw up. Or both, at the same time.

But instead, I just manage to drink a bit of water and stay in the shadows. Bruised. Battered. Bleeding. Trapped. Captured. Fucked. Raped. And after the Careers have finished stuffing themselves, after we see that there were no deaths today besides the District Six girl who I killed, and the other three go to sleep, Victor comes over and strips me down again.

I feel so horrible.

* * *

I don't even get a chance to sleep. Victor spends the whole night fucking me and beating me, and by morning, I'm so worn out that I almost just fall asleep. But all of the Careers are enthusiastic about the Games, happy, laughing at me And of course, they're dragging me along. But I can't summon up any of my normal sarcastic remarks. I'm almost silent, actually. And I'm so on edge. The littlest things make me want to cry. But I'm trying so hard not to.

The Careers don't want to move camp. Lazy dumb-ass pile of shit that they are. They don't really have much entertainment at all, so they pass the time by torturing me. Victor strips me off, leaving me in my underwear. Sage and Vibrance tease me. Every time I say something or do something that they don't like, the Careers cut my wrists. One cut for each disobedience. It started with me calling Sage a bitch. "Oh, really?" she purred. "Well, let's see." And she cut my wrist. Now it's sometime around noon, and both of my arms are sliced with scores of little slits up to my armpits and shoulders.

And they're cutting me for anything. "You're breathing too loudly!" Sage says with a grin, proving the point of what I've been thinking. She takes out one of her knives again. "Oh, will you look at that! We ran out of room." She moves down my body and cuts my heel open. "I guess we'll just have to start on her legs, then." I can feel the pain coursing through my whole body. I can feel my own blood pouring out onto the floor. But I can't let the pain show. And I can't say anything, or I'll get cut even more.

By the time the Careers are eating another Capitol feast, every tiny movement hurts. It's evening, day three of the Games. And every part of my body is cut. Thousands of cuts cover my entire body. There are even cuts on my tongue and the inside of my mouth. Cuts on my eyelids. Cuts on my scalp. Cuts on my ass. I'm cut everywhere. The Careers have been taking turns, cutting every possible part of me. And I mean _every_ when I say it. So I'm lying stark naked on the ground, bleeding out. Dizzy and dying.

When the rest of the Careers go to sleep, Victor comes over again to fuck me some more. No deaths today, either. The Gamemakers will be wanting some action. That is, if me getting raped all the time isn't enough to sate the audience. I groan and yell in pain so loudly that I'm sure that the other Careers have to be faking their sleep. My blood gets smeared on his skin. Every touch hurts me. Finally, only after the first hour or so, I can't stand it. "Look, stop it!" I snarl, pulling away from him. "You've got to get some sleep. So do I." I can tell that he's thinking about it.

"Oh, really?" he says after a second of thought. "There anything in it for me, Rebel Girl?"

I'm not stupid. I can tell exactly what Victor is thinking right now. What he wants from me. Nothing but sex. I spit a huge mouthful of my own blood onto the floor, wincing. "I'll let you fuck me all day tomorrow," I say, trying not to just break down and start crying right here and now. "And I won't complain. At all. Deal?"

Victor nods, grinning. "Deal," he says, going over to sleep. Within minutes, he's passed out with the other Careers.

I wish that Finnick and Haymitch would take pity on me and send me something to help with my many wounds. Even blinking hurts me. Breathing hurts. I'm dying quickly, with my blood pouring out on the ground. I'm lying in a pool of my own blood, and I'm well past the point where dignity comes first. "Help," I whisper, practically gargling my own blood. Fuck, I thought I'd have piles and piles of sponsors by now. Who wouldn't sponsor the poor little rape victim from Four? "Someone help," I say, slightly louder. My voice trembles. Oh, damn, not now. I can't cry now.

I see the silver parachute after a second. I can barely untie it, open up the cloth. All that it contains is a small bottle of liquid antiseptic, a large needle, and a huge spool of thick, durable thread. No notes this time. It's pretty obvious what I need to do. I unscrew the lid of the bottle of antiseptic and dab it carefully on a cut. It hurts like hell, but I try not to look like I'm in pain. I've got to hurry, because I'm bleeding out more and more with every second that passes. I thread the needle, getting the thick thread soaked in blood from my fingers, and tie a knot at the end. Good thing I've got a lot of thread. I sew up each cut as quickly as I can, but it takes a minute or so for each one. My supply of thread is dwindling. But by the time that the Careers are waking up, I've stitched my whole body. Even my tongue. Okay, I'll admit that there are a few cuts in certain places that hurt like hell and I can't even touch that I can't stitch up, but anyway, I've got a whole day of what is essentially prostitution to look forward to. And any stitches there would get ripped out.

All right. I look like a fucked-up mutt. I look like I shouldn't be alive.

I guess Sage agrees with me, because when she wakes up, she sees me and starts laughing her head off. "You look so stupid!" she says between bursts of laughter. "Oh, God, you look like... hahaha!" She's laughing so hard that she's bent double, gasping for breath. "You look like..."

"At least I'm not dead, bitch," I say with a grin that makes pain sear through my face. I know perfectly well that I look like I've been cut to pieces and sewn together again, that my whole body is smeared in blood. "It's good to be alive. I guess you're never going to know. As far as I know, no one's ever won the Games by teaming up with some bastard that rapes other tributes and sitting around getting fat off of Capitol feasts."

Okay, looks like I struck a nerve there. Sage's face flushes in anger. "And you're calling _me_ a bitch," she sneers, getting up in my face. I can count every freckle below her eyes. "If I'm a bitch, then you're a fucked-up slut who deserves to die." I try not to reveal my emotions, but inside I'm screaming. _How the hell does she know about my deal with Victor?_ "Bitch, I heard every word you said to him," she says with a grin. "You're nothing but a whore."

"Maybe because I want to stay alive," I say, practically shaking with anger. I know perfectly well that I'm not exactly intimidating at the moment, but I don't care. Even if I look like some kind of muttation, I can still kill her. "How does it feel to have a sex addict for a leader?" I ask, trying to stay calm. But I grin at her expression.

"Oh, you just wait, Rebel Girl," Sage seethes furiously. She glances over at the other three Careers. "Get up," she says. "We'd better get going. No deaths for two days straight. We're slacking off." The other Careers get up, gathering up their vast assortment of supplies into backpacks. "Hey, Victor, you're going to have to fuck her later."

"Ah, shit," he mutters. "All right, Rebel Girl. As soon as we find a new camp..." I feel my stomach twist as he raises his eyebrows suggestively. I can't stand this anymore. I feel like I'm going to throw up, because this is just so disgusting. All of my nation is watching me get raped multiple times and almost bleed out from thousands of cuts. It's probably scarring some of the little children for life. This is by far the most disgusting Hunger Games I have ever seen or heard of.

"No," I say without thinking. "I'm not going to let you fucking _rape_ me."

They're all silent for a second. Then Victor's face grows cold. "Say that again, Rebel Girl," he says threateningly.

"I _said_, I'M NOT GOING TO LET YOU FUCKING RAPE ME!" I yell, shoving him hard. "You're nothing but a sex addict! Why the hell do you think you can do that! Stupid fucker!" He stumbles to his feet, lunging at me, but I dodge him. The other Careers look transfixed, just watching. "Go - to - hell!" With each word, I punch Victor again. "You're calling me a fucked-up bitchy little slut, right? Well, I just want to _stay alive_!"

It's silent again. But then Victor pins me to the ground. My head hits the rock hard, but I don't feel any significant pain. "I'm gettin' tired a' you, Rebel Bitch," he says, holding me down. Great, I've been upgraded from Rebel Girl to Rebel Bitch. His voice is thick and bit slurred, considering that his mouth is filling with blood from one of my hits. "Hey, Vibrance, can y' ge' me a knife? I'ma kill Rebel Bitch." He spits a mouthful of blood. "I'm gonna kill Rebel Bitch," he says, a bit more clearly this time. "Give it."

"But _I_ want to!" Vibrance whines, tossing her long, black hair. "You guys never let me kill them! This is getting boring!"

Victor sighs. "Fine," he mutters thickly through a mouthful of blood. He pins me down harder. My heart is racing so hard that I think I'm in danger of popping the stitches that I just sewed on. Vibrance positions the knife on my throat, readying herself, practicing a fatal stroke with the knife so close to my skin that I can feel the metal. I'm going to die. My eyes dart around the dark caves. I remember exactly where my backpack is. If only I could grab it and run. But there's only two ways out: an entrance that is blocked by a boulder that weighs probably five times more than me, and the tight crawlspace the way I came.

Nowhere to run.

"Bye-bye, Rebel Bitch," says Vibrance in a sing-song voice. Her eyes glitter with happiness. I feel my heartbeat quicken, my stomach clenching. I'm going to die. I remember Victor's slurred words. _I'ma kill Rebel Bitch._ Well, he isn't, but Vibrance will, I guess. But I have to try. I have to try to get myself out of this and run for it. Damn it, I'll run like hell away from them. I have to.

So when she starts to stab down, I yank my hand up, grab the knife, and put it through her eye.

She doesn't have time to scream. The cannon fires right away, her blood spattering my hand as she goes limp. The other Careers are yelling at me, trying to grab me. I scramble to my feet, stumbling, but I run for the way I came. I grab my backpack and shove it through the crawlspace under the rocks, pushing myself through as fast as I can.

Then I swing my pack onto my shoulders and run like hell.

**Author's Note:**

**Well... um. Do any of you guys think that this should be rated M now? It isn't explicit, but then again, explicit content isn't allowed AT ALL. But I was just looking at the rating guidelines, and this story is VERY violent, has lots of 'coarse language', and has 'very suggestive adult themes'. BUT THIS IS NOT EXPLICIT!**

**So. Just let me know somehow if you think I should up the rating to M.**


	16. Four and Twelve

**Hey! I'm back and really glad to be updating again. Yeah, I'm going to leave the rating at T unless I write anything that would go against that later. Thanks very much to Sabrina Mellark, Anarchy Girl, and daydreamer626 for your reviews, they really made me happy. Also -I forgot to mention this earlier- a HUGE thank-you to Ruby Salamander for putting this story in her community! Everyone, I've got a new (shorter) story coming up soon, so look out for that, because I'm really excited to get it started! It will be set during Mockingjay, about a Capitol OC and Katniss, when she's just gotten back to District Twelve. Anyway, I've got a shorter chapter this time. This chapter title kind of gives away what happens in this chapter... And I have no idea if Spark's fire-starting method actually works, but I figure that it might if her flashlight's designed for survival. Reviews are always appreciated. :)**

_Four and Twelve_

My feet pound the ground as I run wildly, hoping that the Careers are taking a while getting through the crawlspace. I try not to slip on the wet rock, my boots slick with water as I run. I dart into a side passage, hearing the Careers shouting behind me. I almost fall right over when I accidentally step in a deep puddle, water sloshing around my foot, soaking me up to the knee. I stagger farther down the tunnel, almost slamming my head against the cave roof when it gets low. I hit the floor and crawl as fast as I can through a tight space. My shoulders get stuck in the narrow tunnel, and I try to pull myself through. "Ah, fuck!" I hiss as the stitches on my shoulders burst and start pouring blood onto my jacket. My clothes are already soaked in blood, so why should it matter? I twist my body sideways and wriggle through the gap, shoving my pack ahead of me while grasping one of the straps.

As soon as I get through the gap, I'm falling. I barely fall a foot, but I manage to bruise my already bleeding right shoulder, hitting hard on the ground. I get back up right away, stumbling through the caves. I move into the shadows whenever I see the light bulbs on the ceiling. I don't hear the Careers chasing me anymore, but I keep going. I have to. Then I run into a new huge chamber, and then I feel myself splash into a pool of water. No, a lake. Damn! I flail around for a second, pulling my backpack securely onto my shoulders and treading water. Then I push off the rock and shoot through the water like an arrow shooting through the air. My body cuts through the water like a blade. I stroke easily across the chamber of water, my wet clothes weighing me down a little, and same with the backpack, but I don't care.

I lift myself out of the pool once I hit rock, hoisting myself onto the stone. I'm at the edge of a huge lake. Which is good, because I feel like I could drink the whole fucking thing with my thirst. And my stomach's growling in complaint. I haven't eaten for over a day. Maybe there are some fish in the lake. I'm not going to be able to stomach another round of algae and pond scum, that's for sure. I sling my backpack off my shoulders, stopping to catch my breath. Despite the fact that I've shivering hard and I'm soaking wet, I'm sweating from running so much and swimming so hard. How long have I been running, anyway? Must have been at least a mile or two, if you include my swim across the lake.

I force my shaking fingers to unzip my jacket, shivering. I pull the jacket off of me, wringing it out over the water as best as I can, setting it aside. I might as well wring out all my clothes while I'm at it. It doesn't matter if Panem sees me naked. In fact, they'll see almost every tribute who didn't die early on naked. And they've already seen me get raped and cut to pieces. Speaking of which, the cuts in my shoulders are still bleeding. I pull off all my clothes quickly, zipping up the jacket around myself for warmth. I wring out all my clothes over the lake.

I put my clothes back on, suddenly aware of something that I should have realized sooner: _I'm going to die without food._ Hell, yeah! I was just preoccupied with getting raped half the time, and almost bleeding to death. _Getting raped..._ Oh, God, maybe I shouldn't have thought about that particular predicament. My stomach twists. Victor, leader of the feared Career pack, is nothing but a rapist and a sex addict. Oh fucking well. I just hope I don't end up pregnant.

I eat all of my crackers that are left, saving the wrapper. I check to make sure that my flashlight still works, which it does. I sew up my shoulders again, trying not to reveal that it actually hurts like hell. Then I bend my sewing needle and rub my blood onto the tip, dangling it from a spare piece of thread tied to my knife hilt. I figure that I can catch some carnivorous fish, if there are any. After a few minutes, something bites the hook. It's so large that I almost fall right into the lake, but I pull out what looks suspiciously like some kind of mutt.

What the hell? I sigh. Maybe I shouldn't eat it... But hours later, I'm sitting there, lying on my side with my knees curled up to my chest and my arms gripping my stomach, my eyes squeezed shut. Eating only algae is bad enough, but eating nothing is worse. Pain slices through my belly. Ugh, I feel like I'm going to throw up. Pretty soon, I'm dry heaving for all it's worth, my stomach lurching. All right, that's it, I'm going to eat this damn mutt no matter if it kills me or not. At least I can die with a full stomach. I unscrew the transparent plastic from my flashlight, sliding my shoes and socks off. I cut the tops off the socks, lying the fabric on the ground. It better be flammable. I turn the see-through plastic around and light the flashlight. I've seen people start fires with magnifying glasses, so this had better work.

After a while, I've got a little fire burning. I manage to prepare and roast the fish-mutt, cutting the bones out carefully and setting the rest of the fish aside. I even cook the organs, even the brain and eyes. It looks disgusting, but I eat every part of the fish-mutt, since the meat looks normal. I throw up the brain into my hand, but the rest isn't that tough to stomach. I break the bones and suck out the marrow.

I'm getting lonely. And bored, actually, if that's possible. Now that I'm not getting fucked disgustingly in front of all of Panem, I can afford to relax a little. I warm my hands over my still-burning fire. I wonder who's going to be on the death toll tonight. Well, besides Vibrance. Stupid bitch, I'm glad she's gone. There goes District One!

Then, of course, I end up thinking about District Two, and I almost lose it right then. District Two. Sage the bitch and Victor the rapist. They'll probably be in the final two or three, for sure. But right now, I kind of prefer the thought of me winning the Games, no matter how crazy it seems. I know that I can't win, but I want to. Even if President Snow makes me a Peacekeeper by day and a prostitute by night, at least I'd be alive.

Shit. Why am I thinking this way?

I just sit there for a while. I decide to just stay here for tonight. Who knows how long the arena goes, anyway? And I'm pretty sure I'll run into mutts or other tributes soon enough. I actually fall asleep after a while, tired from all my running and swimming. My clothes are drying on my body as I sleep. And I don't even have any nightmares. I don't dream something twisted about President Snow or District Four. I don't dream at all.

I wake up to... darkness. Surprise, surprise. My eyes have almost adjusted to pure black darkness by now. I'm still groggy from sleeping. I wonder what time it is, actually. Still Day Four, I guess, but... did I sleep right through the nightly death toll? I bet the Careers are glad that I'm gone. Well, actually, they're probably really pissed at me for killing Vibrance. _Vibrance was a whiny bitch, who cares?_ I think. _Now I've killed both of the District One tributes._

After a few minutes, I look up to the ceiling and see the pictures of the dead tributes. Plural. More than one. First, Vibrance's picture shows up. I'm praying to everything that I know that Sage and Victor suddenly dropped dead and I just never heard the cannons. But of course, the next district that shows up isn't District Two. District Three is already gone, and District Four is Thor and I. I guess Thor's still alive, because the next district that comes up is District Five. The male tribute is dead, which means that the albino girl, Brooklyn, I think, is still alive. Then there's District Seven. Funny, they looked like a good, tough district. District Seven's girl, Willow, is dead now. Then I see District Eleven. The girl from Eleven is dead. Then the ceiling goes dark, and the anthem winds down.

_"Fuck,"_ I whisper. Four deaths. I count on my fingers the number of tributes left. Victor, Sage, Thor, me, Brooklyn, Alder, Lacey, the boy from Eleven, and Tessa. Nine tributes left out of twenty-four. Holy shit. It's only day four, and we're dying off spectacularly. At this rate, the sixty-sixth Hunger Games will be over in a few days. And I'm pretty sure I won't be the victor. I close my eyes again, moving into a hidden space, wedged in between rocks, using my backpack for a pillow. I make sure to extinguish my fire, putting the remnants of charred fabric in a pocket of my backpack to use later if I need to make another fire. I yawn and shiver, wrapping my jacket around me and curling up.

Just as I'm drifting off, I start to remember the rape. Tears sting at my eyes, and I clench my fists. I can't cry. I am not going to cry. I can't. Everyone's watching me. But it was just so... oh, fuck it all... I hate it. I hate how everyone likes playing on my weaknesses. I hate it I hate it I hate it! I breathe hard, trying not to just break down and cry. I silently vow that next time I see Victor, he'll be on the dangerous end of one of my knifes. I can stab him through the eye like I did to Vibrance, maybe. I grin. Too bad I can't blow him up sky-high like I did to Silver. Damn it, that was _fun_!

I manage to fall asleep after a few minutes of lying awake.

_I'm sitting in my house in District Four, with my grandmother. Nothing seems to change. It's just like I'm frozen in time. Waves crashing on the shore, salty air spilling in the open windows, the faint scent of rotting fish that taints everything here in District Four. My grandmother is sitting at the kitchen table across from me, just watching me. She hands me a necklace. A flat but sturdy shell with a hole in it, strung onto a chain. Why does it look so familiar? "Take it," she says._

_I take the necklace and fasten it around my neck. As soon as my hands leave it, the chain and shell evaporate into nothing, falling from somewhere like rain, only it's blood._

I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding. That was one of the shortest dreams I've ever had, but one of the most unnerving. My district token... I feel at my throat, and then remember that Victor chucked it into a pool of water. Shit, the last thing I had left from home is gone. Evaporated into nothing, and then blood, just like in my dream. I wipe the sweat from my forehead, my hand tentative to touch the rows of sloppy-looking stitches.

Then I sit up. I could swear that I just saw a flash of light from across the lake. "Shit!" I hiss, putting my backpack on and getting out a knife. I guess I'm going to have to do some more killing, then. I hit the floor when I see the flash of light again. Only, this time, it's closer. I crawl out of the rocks carefully, staying deep in the shadows. Who the hell is it? And they're getting closer, shining the light around. Do they have a death wish or something? Who the fuck would be this stupid? It looks like they're swimming across the lake or something.

The light's getting closer.

As soon as the light is about a foot away from me, I scramble up to my feet, grabbing someone's shoulder and pinning them to the wall. My knife goes automatically to their throat. The person's flashlight clatters to the ground. "You shut up while I kill you, bitch," I hiss.

Surprisingly, the person who I'm holding to the wall starts laughing their head off. I reach for their flashlight, my fingers scrambling to find the switch. "Slow down to kill," they say. "I'm not one of them motherfucking Career tributes." Their voice is familiar. No, wait, it's more than familiar. I scowl and turn on the flashlight, shining it at the girl.

"Quit shining that in my eyes," says Tess, grinning despite her black eye. She's squinting at me, holding out her hand. "Oh, and I'd like my flashlight back."


	17. Better Than One

**Hey, people who are reading this! I'm back! And so are my characters. In case you didn't catch it, Tess found Spark, so now they're allies. This is a shorter chapter than I would usually post, but I needed a good place to cut off. My new story, which will be called This Is Prim, will probably be up tomorrow or the day after that. Well, that's all. As usual, I'd really like some reviews, but no pressure. Enjoy the chapter!**

_Better Than One_

I hand her the flashlight, smiling despite myself. "How the hell did you find me?" I ask, grinning. She switches off her flashlight, blinking with her good eye. "I was with the Careers for more than a day. And it was hell."

Tess nods. She leans against the wall, wringing out her soaked jacket. "Yeah, I heard," she says. "They were on a really intense killing spree. They almost got me, too. That's how I got this." She points to her black eye. "But they were too slow when I ran away, and almost none of 'em could swim, except that boy from your district. They were pissed because you got away." She laughs. "You killed Vibrance, right?"

I nod, then remember that it's dark. "Yeah," I say.

"Good," says Tess. "She was a bitch. And you've got another kill, then." She grins wickedly. "And how I found you... I kind of was running from the Careers, and I figured that they were trying to track you, so I just went the way they were going in the first place." She turns on her flashlight again, keeping her hand over it to block some of the light. "Wait. What the hell happened to you?"

Oh, she must mean the thousands of stitches all over my body. "A bitch, a bastard, a slut, and a sex addict," I say, keeping a straight face. I finger the stitches on my hand. "They cut me up whenever I 'did something wrong'."

"Oh, you mean the Careers," she says, catching on right away. "Let me guess... Sage, Thor, Vibrance, and Victor?" she asks. I nod. "All right, but... wait, what did you mean about 'sex addict'?"

I curse myself a million silent times for mentioning _that_ particular incident. "Not much," I mutter, staring at the ground, at my feet. I don't want to admit to Tess that I couldn't get away. That I couldn't escape. I feel weak and stupid now. "Just spent a while getting fucked." Then I correct myself. "Raped, I mean."

Tess's gray eyes widen in shock, and I hear her gasp. "No fucking way," she says, scuffing the heel of her boot on the rock. "What a pervert. I fucking _hate_ the District Two tributes this year. I bet they'll be the final two." After a few seconds of thinking how much worse Panem would be with one of them for their newest victor, Tess changes the subject. "You got any supplies?"

We sit down. I pull my backpack off and set my knife down on the ground. "I've got a flashlight, a container, a water bottle, a sleeping bag, and an empty package of crackers. And my two knives and my backpack. The pack's waterproof." I think about it for a second. "I actually got a pretty good haul in it. That is, after I blew Silver's head off. Pretty easy way to kill another Career. Everyone must think I've got something against District One."

Tess laughs. "Lucky you," she says, with barely a trace of bitterness in her voice. "Two kills and a lot of supplies. I barely got out of the bloodbath alive." I frown, suddenly glad that the deep black darkness hides my face. Even the simple motion sends pain racing across my skin from all of my cuts. "I got a bag of some stuff, too." She lays out blurry objects on the ground that I can't see very well through the dark. "I got a flashlight, a small backpack, and a container of pain pills. That's it."

"You got pain medication?" I ask, holding out my hand. "Shit, and you call that 'some stuff'? Can I have a pill?" Okay, hell, I sound like a drug addict. But my whole body is throbbing in pain from every cut.

Tess sighs. "Fine," she says. "Just take one and whatever you do, don't get addicted. This stuff's from the Capitol, and holy shit..." Her voice trails off. "Well, you know what I mean. It's more addictive than anything I've seen in my life." I shrug, ignoring her advice, and take a couple pills from her hand. I slip one into my backpack before she can tell that I took two. I get out my water bottle, placing the large, white pill on my tongue. I take a deep drink and swallow.

I put my water bottle away. "So, you sound like you know a lot about the other tributes," I say. "You know, alliances and all. I only know that the Careers are down to three and they're all complete assholes."

Tess grins. "Well..." she says, stretching out against the cave wall and leaning back. "Yeah, I guess. More than you do." She stops to think for a moment, and I feel impatient for a second. But only for a second. "Well, we've only got nine people left. District Two and Thor are the Career pack. You're with me. The boy from Seven is alone. The boy from Eleven is alone. I'm with you. And the female tributes from Five and Eight are allied."

"Brooklyn and Lacey, right?" I say. They didn't exactly seem to be the types for alliances. But then again, don't all of us want to win? And two is better than one. I struggle to remember. Oh, yeah, Brooklyn was the girl from Five, the tiny albino twelve-year-old with red eyes. And Lacey, the girl from Eight, with the burn scars and missing arm. They actually seem like they'd make a good alliance, now that I think about it. Both sounded tough from their interviews. "Anyone out there besides the Careers that we should be worried about for now?"

"Actually, if you're not worrying about the Careers, worry about Lacey and Brooklyn," Tessa says. "They make a good alliance." She yawns. "You want to go to sleep now?" she says. "I'm all right either way, but one of us better keep watch."

"I was just sleeping," I say. "I can keep watch for now. I'll wake you up in a while, all right?"

"All right," says Tess. She lies down on the ground behind the rocks, using her bag as a pillow. Suddenly, I feel like I'm not being a good enough ally. I feel like I'm just treating her like she's below me.

"Hey," I say. She looks up, her gray eyes glinting in the dim light. "You can borrow my sleeping bag."

"Okay," she says, flashing me a brief smile.

And as she drifts off, and as I stare across the dark lake, I smile back. Somehow, everything seems a little better with an ally. I'm not alone anymore.


	18. Watch For It

**Hey! I'm back again. Thanks to everyone who followed and favorite and reviewed. And even just the people who read this. I started a new story, This Is Prim. I would really like it if you read that, since it literally has somewhere around 20 total views. Ouch. All right, enough of my complaining. Sorry that the last chapter was so short. This one will have more excitement, I promise. And there's another important author's note at the bottom. Enjoy!**

_Watch For It_

I wake up to Tess shaking me awake in the morning, after her watch. I yawn, still sleepy, untangling myself from the sleeping bag. "We better get moving," I say, standing up. I stuff the sleeping bag into my backpack, leaning against the wall. The darkness is still strange. It still seems like midnight. I turn on my flashlight, pointing it at Tess, but away from her eyes. "You see any of the other tributes?"

She shakes her head, squinting. "No," she says. "Turn your light off." I flick the switch on the side of the flashlight, blinking the afterimages out of my eyes. I hear her sling her backpack onto her shoulders. "Come on. There's a tunnel to the left. Hey," she adds. "Can I borrow one of your knives?" I hand her a knife, trying not to cut her hand in the dark. "Thanks."

I shine my flashlight carefully through the tunnel. The ceiling's low, so we'll have to go on our hands and knees. "I'll go first," I say, crawling into the tunnel. "Come on, Tessera, you go last. I'll take the Careers, and you can have whatever mutts are trailing us right now."

Tess punches me playfully in the shoulder at the 'insult' and the nickname that the Career tributes gave her in training. Right now, we're next to each other, but in a foot or so, the tunnel gets too narrow for that. "Well, then, hurry up, Rebel Bitch," she says. "That's what the Careers call you, right? Looks like you've been upgraded." I laugh, but I bite my lip. I just hear Victor's voice ringing in my head, seeing him glaring at me. _"I'ma kill Rebel Bitch."_

Oh fucking well. I crawl down the tunnel, a knife in one hand and the other empty. Pretty soon, I have to get down on my stomach. And really, I'm starting to think that I liked working alone a lot better than this. The tunnel is so tight, suffocating me. It's like this is never going to end. In fact, the tunnel goes on with no forks for what seems like and probably is hours. I'm covered in dirt and starving. Finally, I just say to Tess, "We've got to get out of here."

"Yeah, you're telling me?" she says. "You have any water in that pack of yours? I won't drink it all." I sigh quietly under my breath, silently making a plan to kill off my ally as soon as possible, handing her the water bottle. She takes a drink and passes it back up to me. Before I put it away, I take a swig and then cap it. I feel so fucking hungry, but that can wait.

"Hey," Tess says quietly after a few more minutes of crawling on the ground. I almost start yelling at her right here and now, but she continues. "You sure that we're not being... um, _followed_?"

"What the hell?" I spit. "We're being followed by someone and you haven't bothered to say anything for hours? Are you fucking serious?" My breath hisses out from between my clenched teeth. I twist my head around to look back at her. "Why the hell didn't you say something?"

She looks a bit scared for a second, and then I remember that she's my ally. Not an enemy, at least for now. Her eyes widen and glint under the dim yellow light of a light bulb on the ceiling. "I.. I might just be imagining it..." she says shakily. "I keep thinking I hear noises behind us whenever we slow down too much. Like we're being followed. I'm probably just being paranoid." She breathes hard. "Keep going. I only hear it when we slow down."

"All right," I say uneasily. "At least the ceiling's getting higher." And it's true. After a few minutes, we can stand up again. As soon as the ceiling's high enough, though, the tunnel opens out into a chamber, with puddles on the floor. I fill up my water bottle again. "Holy shit, I feel like I'm starving," I say. As soon as the words come out of my mouth, there's a silver parachute floating toward the floor. I grin. "Hey, Tess, we actually got some sponsors," I say.

She smiles back, and we sit down, opening the parachute up. Inside, there's what looks like an entire cooked chicken, which is covered in some kind of sweet-smelling sauce and sitting in a pot. There's even silverware and plates, and I smile when I see a butter knife, remembering my little prep team conflict. We wordlessly split the chicken and eat the whole thing in a few minutes. We even lick our plates. I remember Miranda Sanrough, my chaperone, squealing how I was such a barbarian, and I almost laugh.

"What is it?" says Tess, sitting her fork and plate down. She's seen me grinning to myself. It probably seems like I'm gone crazy. And maybe I have. I'm either insane or inhuman. Or both. Probably both.

"Oh, I was just thinking about..." I remember that I'm probably not supposed to talk about stabbing a member of my prep team in front of the whole nation, or my picky, bitchy chaperone. "Nothing. It's just stupid."

Tess glances nervously at the tunnel that we left. "All right. You think we should... go? As in, _now_?" she says, sounding oddly forceful. "I mean, we've been here for a while." I shrug as she stuffs the silverware into her backpack. Oh, yeah, her and the noises that she keeps hearing. She looks up, and I see her staring at me strangely. "Spark. Get up. Now. Listen."

I'm about to slap that paranoid little bitch right in the face, but I stand up, gripping my knife hilt. And I listen. It takes a few seconds, but then I hear it. Just as I'm about to dismiss it as all in her head, I hear the sound of someone -or something- making their way through the tunnel. And they're nearby. _Very_ nearby. I glance at Tess, and her eyes meet mine. My eyes flick to a wide tunnel with a high ceiling. And we run.

I run faster than Tess. Sure, I was slightly malnourished back in District Four, but Tess must have had it really rough back in District Twelve. She can barely keep up with me, and lags behind a few feet as we sprint as fast as we can down the tunnel. "Come on!" I say, glancing back at her for a second. She's gasping for air as she runs. Even I'm getting a stitch in my side that sears every time I breathe. "Come on! We've got to keep going!" Blood is pulsing through my head. I think I'm going insane. I feel about ready to punch Tess's lights out. "You were the one who was acting all fucked up over this. Keep - fucking - _running_!" I snarl.

"I- I can't!" Tess gasps, leaning against the wall, panting and slumping to the ground. Her hair is messy and sticks to her face with sweat. Her eyelids droop. "It's been miles. Please... just for a little while... rest... please." She looks up at me pleadingly. "Come on... I can't do this. Either let me rest or leave me here."

I face her, fury pounding through my aching body as I catch my breath. "What the hell, Tess?" I yell. I don't care who hears me. "_You_ were the one that told me to keep going! _You_ were the one who heard whatever's following us! Not me! And don't fucking get started on that noble martyr shit, about me leaving you! That's BULLSHIT!" I have to stop yelling to take a breath. "Just get up, goddammit," I say, quieter, but there's still steel in my voice. "Get _up_. Get off your ass and RUN, you bitch!" My voice is raised again.

"Shut up," she says sleepily. "Just shut up. I need water." I sigh in annoyance and let her drain half of my water bottle before I take it away from her. "Give me a minute, okay? Please?"

"No!" I snap, starting to really get furious. "Get up, you bitch! You really want to die? Well, go ahead! I'm gonna fucking _kill_ you, bitch! You're just another tribute! Just another fucking step for me to be the victor, no matter how much every fucking person in the Capitol wants me dead! So I don't give a shit! Just die already! It's fine with me!" I breathe hard and fast. "Or you can save your worthless, bitchy life and RUN!"

Tess looks like she's dangerously close to crying. I almost growl in frustration. "Fine!" she says, her voice trembling. "I'll go!" Then she bursts into loud, gasping sobs, tears pouring down her face. "I know that you don't care!" she gets out, wiping her eyes uselessly. "So don't rub it in! This is only temporary, you know that, right?" She makes a sound of choked, hysterical laughter. "You do! You don't give a fuck!"

"Hell, yeah!" I spit. "Get up, you bitch! Because if you want to stay alive, you're going to have to run. I'm not dragging you behind me." I'm starting to lose what little patience I have, if any. "In a few seconds, I'm just going to go, all right? I sure as hell will not wait for you. I honestly don't care. Just make up your fucking mind already, I'm getting bored."

Tess stands up, leaning against the wall. "All right, I'll go, okay?" she says, blinking back tears and staring down the tunnel.

"Damn right it's okay, I'm sick of waiting," I answer back. "You ready?" She nods, and I position my legs, leaning forward. "Run as fast as you can on three. One... two..." I take a deep breath. "Three!"

Both of us shoot off down the tunnel as fast as we can. I'm still holding one of my knives as I run, and Tess has the other. Pretty soon, I've passed her. My breath heaves through my body. I hate to admit it, but even I am getting tired. The muscles in my legs are burning, and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth from the cuts in it. I spit off to the side. "Come on!" I yell. "Tess! Come on!"

"I'm trying, I'm trying!" Tess insists. And I know that she is. Years of District Twelve's horrifyingly significant undernourishment and hunger have taken their toll on her, and she is struggling to keep up with me. But we keep running. Our feet pound the ground in a rhythm that first seems offbeat, but then fits together like some twisted combination of two drums beating. Even our gasping breathing fits in. Our calls to each other become accents in the rhythmic beats. Like a song. With every beat of my feet upon the ground, I think one word. _Run._ It repeats over and over. _Run run run run run run run run run..._

"Spark?" gasps Tess. "You think we should stop for a few minutes? Even you look tired, don't try to deny it."

I stumble to a stop, leaning against the wall. "Sure," I pant, sitting down hard. Sweat is pouring off my face, and I have to wipe my forehead. "Anyway, we're at a fork." I glance up at the split in the passage. "Okay, the left way has such a low ceiling that I wouldn't be able to fit through."

"Fat-ass," Tess says. I glare at her, about to snap back something, but then I see her lips curl up into a joking grin. And I have to smile back. "I could fit right through the tunnel, no problem."

"That's 'cause you're starving," I say, taking a sip of water and letting my heart rate go back to normal. "Don't push it, Tessera." We sit there, sipping water and passing the bottle back and forth until I have to refill it from a suspiciously mucky-looking puddle on the ground. I take my jacket off and stuff it into my bulging backpack. "Anyway," I say, breaking the silence. "Like I was saying before you said that I had a fat ass, the right way is pretty wide with a high ceiling. So we're going that way." Tess smirks.

After a few minutes, I stand up shakily, tired, ready to fall asleep. "We better get going again, Tess," I say, trying desperately not to lean against the wall or slouch. She sighs and gets up. I adjust my backpack on my shoulders and position my feet. "One... two... three!" I yell, and we start running again. I try to keep my legs pumping as fast as I can, no matter how much pain is throbbing through my body and no matter how many stitches I'm popping. The rhythm starts up again. _Run run run run run..._ And I keep running, even though Tess is starting to significantly fall back behind me.

"Hurry up!" I yell back at her. She's barely running anymore, far behind me. "I'm gonna fucking leave you back there if you don't! And whatever you say is tracking us is going to catch up to you! You, and not me, because you'll be a mile behind me!" I'm starting to get filled with fury again. "Run, bitch!"

"I can't!" she yells, tripping and falling, barely getting back up to her feet. She looks close to tears again. "I can't keep going! Fuck you! I shouldn't've allied with you anyway. You're nothing but a bitch! You're a motherfucking slut! You should die!" She's almost hysterical. "I hate you! I keep telling you, we're being followed! And if you had any sense in your head, you wouldn't be yelling, you'd _watch for it_!"

I stop running for a second and look back at her. She's standing under one of the light bulbs, her body illuminated in a yellow glow that leaves a pale gray shadow on the ground. Then I turn away and start running again. "Have fun dying, bitch!" I yell as I run. And then I don't say anything else. I don't even watch as she fades out of sight.

It passes on for a while. The rhythm of the running goes on dimly -_run run run run run_- but it's different. I think that hours might be passing. I don't know. I stop twice, and sometimes, I have to slow down to a jog. I've drank five water bottles full of water and had to refill it more times than I can remember. I start to feel hungrier and hungrier. It must be somewhere in the afternoon, since I haven't seen the death toll yet. Tess is somewhere behind me. Sometimes I can see her, and sometimes I can't. But she's always there, running behind me. And I never acknowledge her.

After a rest of about ten minutes in which I almost fall asleep, I get up again, pulling on my backpack. I pick up my knife. I've been carrying it while I run, no matter how risky that may seem. I remember when I was a little kid in school, and my teacher would always tell me not to run with scissors. Maybe that's why I stabbed them in the face with a pair of safety scissors. I almost laugh at that, but I just keep on running. In fact, this time, I don't stop for a while. I never look back. I go through caves and side passages and tunnels, but I just keep running. I'm pretty sure that I've lost whatever's following us, but I'm also sure that Tess knows where I'm going. I leave chunks of shiny rock at the corners whenever I make a turn, like trail markers.

But after a few more hours, almost when I'm expecting the death toll to glare down from the ceiling and the anthem of Panem to blast through the tunnels, I notice something. Something that I didn't notice before. Something that I should have noticed. Something that's probably going to cost me.

Because even as I look far down the long tunnel, I can't see Tess anymore.

I skid to a stop, almost dropping my knife. What the hell? Did she make a wrong turn? Or... or was she so slow that whatever -whoever?- was following us _caught up to her_? Despite all of my sweating, a shiver goes down my spine. Fuck. I sigh and start running the opposite way that I was before. "Tess?" I call. "Tess?" I don't know how I should feel. Sure, she can be a pain in the ass, but she's my ally. Or maybe, she was. Maybe she's dead.

And that's when I hear the cannon blast coming from the way I'm running.

I bolt down the tunnel, running as fast as I possibly can. Oh, God. _Maybe it's not Tess. Maybe Tess killed whoever was following us. Yeah, that's it._ I'm trying to convince myself, but it isn't working. I trip through the passageways, going back the way I came. Thank God I left those trail markers. I look around. There's a light bulb on the ceiling nearby, and I see something on the ground. Very much too human. I try not to look as terrified as I am and look down, shining my flashlight at it.

It's Tess's dead body on the ground. And there's a knife in her back.

**Author's Note:**

**Well... that was quite the ending of the chapter. Almost every Hunger Games fanfic that includes a female tribute with a female ally in the arena is a completely knockoff of Rue's death. So I tried to make it more unique than that. The next chapter's going to be exciting! :) Tell me what you think!**


	19. Kill Them All

**Hey, I'm back! Thanks to daydreamer626 for reviewing! I don't exactly have much to say... Time to find out who killed Tess! *laughing evilly while feeling like Seneca Crane, except I don't die...* Oh, and also, you will notice that Spark has come to have a couple of sayings: "But, what the hell?" And, "Oh, fucking well." Yeah, just letting you know, in case you didn't notice! Sorry that this is so short!**

_Kill Them All_

I think my heart skips a beat. Something inside of me snaps, seeing Tess's body lying face down. I pull the knife out of her back, trying not to look like I care. _She's just another tribute out of your way,_ I insist to myself. _She was just a whiny little bitch who wasted your food and water supply for not even a day._ I manage to convince myself that this is good. I remember what I said. When I didn't look back. _Have fun dying, bitch!_ Only, she didn't have fun, but she died.

I polish the blood off my knife on my jacket. Then, under the light bulb, I get a good look at the knife itself. It's the knife that Tess borrowed from me. She was killed with her own motherfucking weapon. Now, that just kind of makes me feel like I shouldn't be so heartless. But hey, I get my knife back! I bet that something is going to take Tess's body away soon, so I rummage through her bag, pulling it off of her. It's got a stab through it, and besides, I don't need another bag. I grin when I see her pain pills and shove them into my backpack. I don't need a second flashlight, so I just decide to steal Tess's batteries. Actually, it's not stealing, now that she's dead. It's only scavenging. No matter what it is, I shove the batteries into my bag, grinning.

New supplies. And no slow, bitchy ally tagging along and slowing me down.

Then I remember. Someone killed her. I could add another kill to my list. And considering that I've already killed three people -Silver, the girl from District Six, and Vibrance-, I don't exactly need another death. But, oh fucking well. I _want_ to kill someone. I _need_ to kill someone. I need to get blood on this knife. And they've got to be nearby...

I hear laughter and turn around. Under the light bulb stands what's-his-face from District Seven. Oh, yeah, his name's Alder. He has a stupid, twisted grin that contorts his face. "I killed her," he says, laughing. "I kill the little bitch for you."

Every muscle in my body wants to drive my knife through his brain, but I manage to restrain myself. I can be crafty, after all. I may look stupid or too angry at times, but this isn't one of those times. So I smile right back like I'm having the fucking time of my life here. "Thanks," I say with all my confidence, not a trace of doubt. I'm not afraid of him, anyway. I'm getting out of this alive, so I can't afford any stupid fears. "And why the hell did you want to kill her in the first place? Just for the fun of it? Because she was going to be _my_ kill." Oh, man, I'm sure the audience in the Capitol -and maybe even the districts- is loving this. "You didn't seem like the killing type at the interviews."

His face falls, and for a second, he looks truly rabid. "I..." he says, at a loss for words. I see him set something down that looks suspiciously like an ax. His weapon. A wave of something like tainted relief rushes through me. "Well, I- I saw you at the interviews, and you looked so sexy, and..." I try not to blush and look stupid. Okay, didn't see that one coming... at all. That almost disgusts me. Alder, the tribute from Seven, is in love with me? "... and I just knew that I was in love with you," Alder finishes.

I'm about to just stab him through the eye and cut off his dick, but oh well. Two can play this motherfucking game. I just smile and act like I don't notice the lust in his eyes. Why are there so many perverted tributes out here? Who the hell thought this one up? Oh, fucking well. "Yeah, and your point is..." I purr, trying to act as seductive as possible. I feel like a slut. He steps toward me over Tess's body and embraces me fiercely. Whoa, he's fucking strong. I feel like he's going to crush me. Besides, he smells like sweat. I almost gag.

"That I'm in love with you," he growls. I laugh breathily, sounding so fake and stupid to myself. _Sluttier! Girlier! Stupider!_ I command myself. If I'm going to be tricky with this, then I had better do it all the way. But inside, I'm actually wondering how many parents out there in Panem have had to give their little children the sex talk because of me. I almost laugh, thinking about Capitol children watching this. Poor, awkward Panem. But I just keep smiling like an idiot. I manage to wink at the cameras before Alder sees.

"Oh, really?" I say flirtatiously, giggling. He pulls me closer and reaches down my jacket and shirt, his hand sliding down my bare skin. Heat fills my face, and I giggle again. I must sound like I'm high. Good thing I've got those pain pills in my backpack. All of this touching isn't helping my stitches and cuts.

Oh, and even better... Alder hasn't noticed that I'm holding my knife behind his back.

I get another second or so to smile before Alder just flat-out kisses me on the lips. His tongue explores the inside of my mouth, and I try to kiss him back. It's not an easy task, considering that I'm holding my knife above his back, ready to strike. But, ugh... his mouth tastes disgusting. I feel like I'm going to throw up. _Slut, slut, slut!_ chants a mocking voice in my head. _Stupid slut! You'll never win the Games!_ It takes me a second before I realize that this voice in my head sounds suspiciously like Victor's. _Ugh,_ I think back, almost like a comeback to the voice in my head. Or to Victor. Or to the whole fucking world, but mostly the Capitol. _You make me sick. You make me want to puke. Die, die, die._

Whoa. What the hell is up with voices in my head? I remember taking a pill about a day ago, but maybe the effects have just waited until now. Maybe I'm addicted. Maybe I'm high. Oh, shit, how the hell can I be high? My head's spinning. Alder draws away from me, still inches from my face. "You have no idea how much I've wanted to do that," he raves. Wow. All I can say is, one of us must be high, and I'm not sure who. He's babbling on about how fucking sexy I am, and I want to just punch his lights out.

"You're so beautiful," he says, and for a second, it almost hurts. Not physically, but it's almost like a stab in my heart. No one's ever really called me beautiful. It hurts to be called beautiful. And it almost makes me regret the decision that I am about to make. "I love you, Spark."

I swallow hard, trying to keep my hands from shaking. Oh, God, I'm losing it. I can feel myself slipping away, farther away. The tough, resilient Spark Reviz is almost disappearing, but I summon her back the best I can. I position the knife on his back. He doesn't notice a thing, and that makes me feel even worse about this. I feel like such a bitch. I feel like a murderer. Here I am, about to kill someone who truly loves me. I close my eyes for a second, trying not to cry. "I love you, Spark," he repeats, kissing me on the lips. He breaks away. "I've never seen someone as beautiful as you."

And even though it breaks my heart, that's when I make my decision.

I stab downward into his back as hard as I can.

He falls to the ground with a cry of pain as I pull the knife out, landing on the rocks. His blood, thick and crimson under the yellow light, spills out onto my boots. "No," he moans, looking up at me, looking panicked. "I _love_ you. No!"

"Sorry," I choke out, but it's barely audible. "I'm sorry," I repeat. "It's just... I have to win this. I've got kill. I've got to kill them all."

He looks up at me, and there's a trace of a smile on his lips. "You know, you're still beautiful," he says. "You really are." And his eyes slide shut as his cannon fires.

I keep repeating what I was saying, not paying much attention to anything. I think I'm losing it, finally. I think I'm high. I think I'm out of my mind. I think that this is long overdue. "I've gotta kill 'em all," I say to myself deliriously. "I've got to fucking _kill them_! I have to _kill_ them! What the _fuck_ is wrong with me?" And that's when I end up doing something that I haven't done in all five-and-almost-six days of these motherfucking Hunger Games. Even through the mutts, and the rape, and the torture, and Tess, and the running. It all has built up into this. So I do something that I'm never going forgive myself for.

Right there, in front of all of the nation of Panem, I start to cry.

**Author's Note:**

**Okay, short chapter with weird ending. Or weird chapter with short ending... however you want to put it. Wow, I feel... strange after writing this. Anyone else like this chapter besides me? Let me know... (worst hinting ever).**


	20. Higher and Higher

**Hey! Thanks to Anarchy Girl for reviewing. That last chapter was weird... yeah. And this one's probably weirder. Everyone, if you have problems with some more really brutal murder and drug abuse, skip this chapter. I'm basically making this stuff up, since I don't do drugs and never will because it's stupid. I would say no 'offense', but then I'd be lying. And brave people who are still going to read this, tell me what you think! :) There's going to be more death coming up. This is going to be a _really_ short Hunger Games. :D**

_Higher and Higher_

I just sit there, slumped against the wall, crying. I feel like an animal, untamed and wild as completely unrestrained sobs pour out of my shivering body. Wait, why am I crying? I'm crying. Why the hell am I crying? I wipe my eyes, but sobs still come out of me even as I polish off my knife until it shines. Oh, God, I'm losing it. I really have lost it now. I don't even know why I'm crying. I don't even know why I'm still alive.

The anthem of Panem blares out across the caves and tunnels, barely hiding the sound of my crying. First, Alder's picture flashes on the ceiling in the eerie light. I bite my lip, trying not to cry, but I'm trembling like I'm standing in a strong, cold wind. Then Tess's picture. That's the last time I'll ever see her bitchy little smirk. I don't even know why I'm still crying right now. But my head's still spinning even when the anthem ends.

I reach in my backpack for my water bottle and Tess's bottle of pain pills. All right, do I really look like I give a shit if I end up killing myself? I'm going to bring some more tributes down with me, anyway. I'm already filled with actual, physical pain. And I don't care if I get high. I don't fucking care if I fucking die. I take a deep breath, my hands shaking as I unscrew the lid of the pill bottle. Tears sting in my eyes. "You're fucked up, you know that?" I whisper to myself. "You're fucked up."

And it's true.

I put a handful of pills in my mouth, as many as will fit. Then I swallow them all. And I mean, all of them. Pretty soon, I've finished off that little pill bottle. Fuck, it only had about fifty pills or so. But that'll be enough, I guess. My head's getting fuzzy. My stomach's starting to pound. I'm getting what feels like the start of a killer headache. And maybe I'm seeing things. Wait... wait just one fucking second. Why am I seeing sparkles everywhere? Ugh, this looks like fucking District One now. District One. I remember how I blew up Silver and how I stabbed Vibrance right through the eye. So I start laughing my head off, rolling around on the ground.

I grin when I look at the bloodstains on the ground. I killed Alder, didn't I? Oh, yeah, I did. And Tess got killed by Alder. I start laughing even harder when I see that their bodies have been taken away somehow. It's just so stupid. The Hunger Games. Who the fuck came up with that name, anyway? It makes me laugh even harder. And we've got to kill people. I burst out laughing so hard that I can barely breathe.

Wait. We've got to kill the other tributes, right? Yeah, we do. I grip my knife as well as I can and stand up, grinning. Time to kill some tributes! I sway a little bit and lean against the wall. Ah, this is so fucking _fun_! I should really do this more often! I hitch my backpack up on my shoulders, gripping my knife, and start to run through the tunnels. I jump over all the puddles of water and I feel like I'm flying. I laugh almost the whole way as hard as I can. My laughter rings out through the caves.

My feet pound the ground. I keep seeing things, though. The tunnels sparkle in the bright blue light of the light bulbs. Like glitter. Like diamonds. Ugh, District One again. I feel like I'm in some kind of underground District One. I don't know where I am. I always just go through the tunnels until I feel like I'm never getting out. Oh, fucking well! I laugh, stopping to lean against the wall, panting. Sweat is soaking my clothes. I'm too hot in this jacket, so I rip it off as fast as I can, stuffing it in my backpack. I unbutton my shirt, my black undershirt showing. That's better, I guess.

I run into the next chamber, but I'm not looking, and suddenly, there's water all around me. It even shines, too, and is it my imagination, or is it bright red? Yeah, it is. I'm trying to reach the surface of the water, but something hazy and almost invisible keeps pulling me down... and down... and down. Shit! I groan. Maybe I could get out of this if I had some more drugs. I remember the pill that I slipped into my backpack when I was with Tess, and I desperately pull myself towards the surface, shoving the quickly dissolving pill into my mouth and swallowing. That lets in a mouthful of water, but hey, I'm even higher!

I burst out of the water, sopping wet and dripping all over the floor. I'm panting like a tired dog and laughing my head off at the same time. "This is fun!" I laugh to myself, stopping running for a second. "Holy shit, I should really get high more!" But, shit, I'm out of pills! I almost panic, but then I remember that I'll be fine for now. I start running as fast as I can like I'm being chased by everything I hate. The walls shimmer in bright colors.

I come to a deep chasm, but that sure as hell doesn't stop me. I feel strong. Strong enough to fly. Or strong enough to jump across. So I just keep running as fast as I can and jump. Pretty soon, through the shimmer and all the butterflies flying in front of my face, I realize that I'm in the chasm. I soar through the darkness. I'm flying. Another laugh comes out of me, but it's quelled when I hit the ground. And when I say that, I mean, I hit the ground fucking _hard_.

A short yelp comes out of my mouth as my back slams into the stone. I feel the contents of my backpack smashing against my back. It hurts! It fucking hurts like hell! I moan and struggle to stand up, but I can't breath. I just got the wind knocked out of me. After a few seconds, I gasp for air, and I'm breathing again. But when I try to sit up, pain races up my back. Did I break something? Oh, shit...

I stand up after a few minutes of lying there in pain. I touch my back. Okay, even though that took the full blow of the impact, I guess that my landing was cushioned by my jacket. Ha. Saved by my clothes. I start laughing again. Who gives a fuck? I run to the other end of the pit, but then I see a tunnel leading off into darkness. I grin and run down the tunnel, through total darkness. But then it's not dark! Soon enough, the world is lit up bright with purplish-blue light. I laugh and keep running. Now I can see everything. Little butterflies surround me in a cloud like a shield. When I run through ponds, the water literally parts for me. Funny how I'm wet anyway.

And that's when I hear a whimper that isn't mine.

"Who the fuck is there?" I yell. "Come out, bitches!" Nothing happens. "I said, come taste the end of my motherfucking knife!" My voice becomes high-pitched and sing-song. "Come _out_, bitch! Come on, slut! I kill you and you shut up for-_e_-ver!" Nothing happens again, and I'm starting to get impatient. "Come on! Get the fuck over here so I can fucking kill you, bitch!"

For a second, there's silence. Silence that fucking makes me want to scream. And why hold back? "GET THE FUCK OVER HERE!" I bellow, leaning against the wall and trying not to fall right over. My head's pounding, and I feel like I'm going to puke.

"You mean, me?" asks a voice. I start laughing when I see her. Brooklyn from District Five, the little twelve-year-old who thinks that she's tough. Ha ha, she's going to fucking die. Her white hair is tangled and covered in mud. She looks beaten down and so small and so weak. I could kill her. Right now. I could just kill her. So I will. She grins halfheartedly. "You're high. Better sleep it off. That is, if you manage to wake up afterward."

"Ahh, you fucking _bitch_!" I yell. I stagger toward her, raising my knife. I shove her to the ground, and she falls easily. I grin. "You look so stupid." I trace my knife over her throat, leaving a thin line of blood on Brooklyn's neck. She whimpers in pain. I smile. "Yeah, that hurts, doesn't it?" I say, wiping the blood off. "Owww." I twist around my words mockingly. "Any last words, bitch?"

"I'm not a bitch," Brooklyn says. And she actually smiles back -is she insane? "You're a drug addict and a slut, so you should shut your mouth."

So I slit her throat open. And her cannon fires before she gets a chance to cry or scream.

For a second, I'm transfixed by the flow of her blood onto my hands. Thick, warm blood. Its metallic stench fills the cave. It slides over my fingers, smooth and wet. My hands and knife are soaked in her blood. I'm entranced somehow. Out of the corners of my eyes, I can see sparkles flaring. It's so beautiful. I could stand here and watch this forever. This is so fun. It feels so good. No pain. No nothing. It's just peaceful, with Brooklyn's blood on my hands and her body sprawled on the ground.

But my mind's going hazy. What the hell is happening to me? I'm scaring myself with all this shit. "What the- ahh!" I yell as a stabbing pain thrusts through my body. "Ahh! Fuck! Fuck it!" Tears ooze out of my eyes. What the hell did I just do to myself? Ow, ow, ow. It hurts like hell to just be alive. Oh, God, I wish I could just pass out right now. I want to just kill myself... wait! My hand finds my knife. I sink to the ground. I fumble to stab myself, to fucking _end_ it right now, but my hands are shaking too much. My vision's swimming like water is around everything. Dizzy, dizzy, fucking _high_! I'm _high_! Holy shit, what am I doing? What's wrong with me? There's something wrong with this, right? With me? Oh, shit...

And as the sparkles and glitter fade to reveal the darkness of the real world, I think, _They'll remember me as the tribute who got high.__  
_

**Another author's note:**

**Well... um. That was kind of interesting for me to write. Random fact: I'm a fan of Eminem, and this chapter was the product of listening to his song Drug Ballad a few too many times while writing. In case anyone was wondering, _where the hell did this chapter come from?_ And, yeah, Spark is kind of crazy. Well, not kind of. Really.**

**Tell me what you think! :)**


	21. Trapped in the Haze

**Hi! I'm past twenty chapters now, and there's the scrolling-down thingy on the chapter list! Yay! Okay, you guys are awesome. Last chapter was my most reviewed chapter of this story and probably ties for all of my fanfics. So thanks to daydreamer626, Anarchy Girl, Sabrina Mellark, and StephanieLockedInTheTARDIS for reviewing, it made my day. And probably my whole week. I got a lot of reviews saying that Spark was insane, and yeah, that's completely true. I just read that chapter over and thought, ****_fucked up but awesome..._**** Not to be bragging or anything. Again, I've never done drugs and think that it's stupid to do so, so I'm just making this up. Trust me, when you read enough and stuff, _everything's_ there.**

_Trapped in the Haze_

I feel like shit. I'm trapped in some kind of haze, unable to get out of it. I feel like I'm sleeping, but I'm aware that time passes. What the fuck is going on? But after what feels like a while, I can get my eyes open again. At first, I only feel the pounding in my head and a nauseated feeling like something's gnawing at the pit of my stomach. Then I realize that I'm soaking wet like I've been running through water, and shivering. I open my eyes hazily and see that I'm literally collapsed in a shallow pool of water, lying on my back with my face barely sticking out.

I stagger out of the water, sitting down in the corner of the small cave that I'm in right now. I press my fingers to my temples, rubbing. _Owww._ Hurts like hell. What the fuck did I do before I went and passed out, anyway? I feel awful. I don't even really know what I'm thinking. _Think!_ I mentally scream at myself, but it's almost like I'm barely whispering. _You're in a cave. You're in the arena. You're a tribute. You killed other tributes. You got high._ And after I realize that last part, I know something for sure.

_I really have lost it this time._

I groan, pulling my backpack off. My clothes are soaked, and my pants stick to my skin. I feel... ugh. Either I'm doing this never again, or I'll skip the aftereffects and the pain and just get high constantly. Yeah, I think I'll go with the second option. I loved that feeling. Of flying through the air, and I had this perfect sensation of euphoria. Of seeing sparkles shining everywhere, because it was so damn beautiful. Of seeing ordinary water turn bright red like blood. Of seeing the walls glow blue. Of laughing and laughing and laughing because I'd never felt so free before. And I know something else a second later:

_And I'm addicted now._

Yeah, I'm addicted, sure as hell. I grin. Those Careers can kiss my ass; I've gotten five kills. I feel a jabbing pain in my head and crumple, rolling into a ball with my knees to my forehead. Ahh, that fucking hurts! I hope that Finnick and Haymitch can get me some more pills. I remember dimly, what Tess said. _"This stuff's from the Capitol, and holy shit... Well, you know what I mean. It's more addictive than anything I've seen in my life."_ Oh, shit, I'm in for it now. Speaking of which, how the hell did I survive all that? Maybe I'm dead and I don't even realize. Oh, fuck it, I just need some more of those pills.

I lie there for a moment, thinking, as the pain in my head starts to lessen. But I guess it's deceptive, because the pain keeps coming back in stabs. They get worse... and worse... and so fucking awful that I scream. Oh, God, I need some more of those fucking drugs! I open my mouth to take a breath, but I end up screaming. And I scream so loud that it even hurts my own ears. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I yell, my voice getting a bit high-pitched. I can't stop screaming. Oh, fuck, I really need some more drugs. My head's splitting. I'm being stabbed over and over again. Ow, ow, ow! Fuck! Holy shit, is this ever going to stop? Me writhing on the floor and screaming for drugs like the insane person that I am?

After about five minutes, I decide that I'd better get up. Even though it hurts like hell. Even though I'd much rather lay down and die. Even though... oh, shit. I stagger against the wall, moaning softly. There's pain rushing through my whole body. I shakily open my water bottle and raise it to my lips, pouring some down my throat. I end up drinking the whole fucking thing and having to refill it. I don't care that I'm hungry; I just need some more of those fucking pain pills.

I put my backpack back on, and suddenly I realize something. I'm lost. Not just _I-have-no-fucking-idea-where-the-hell-I-am_ lost. No, not now. Right now, I'm _I'm-going-to-die-alone-in-some-fucked-up-cave_ lost. I don't know where to go. I'm so lost. No allies. Nothing but my drug addict self, lost and alone in the caves of this stupid arena. I take a deep breath, pain shooting through me. Maybe if I manage to kill another tribute, then I might just get some more pain pills as a sponsor gift.

I try to keep going through the tunnels. I really try. But soon enough, my head's pounding too much, and I just can't keep going. So I find a nice quiet place in the corner of a cave and curl up into a ball, closing my eyes. If I can't get high, maybe I can just imagine it. I take myself to a whole different world. A beautiful forest that isn't an arena where the sun shines down and warms my shoulders. Where birds fly and sing traditional District Four songs like fucked-up mockingjays. Where flowers grow in the shade of trees, in such vivid colors that they burn into my eyes. Where the very air sparkles with glitter and the sky has diamonds that grow out of the sun. Where I dream of good dreams and getting so high that I'll never come back down.

But it's all in my head. I need some more of those pain pills. I look up. Hopefully, a camera can get some good shots of me. "Hey, Finnick," I say. I've seen tributes do this in the past few Hunger Games -beg their mentors and convince them- and it usually results in them getting some good sponsor gifts. "You don't want your tribute to die, do you? 'Cause I'll fucking kill myself if I don't get more of them drugs." I manage to grin. "You just gonna sit here and watch me die, right? You really want one of the Careers to win instead of me? Just enough to get me by... please...?"

The anthem starts to blast, and I look up, squinting, begging silently for Finnick to hurry the fuck up. First comes Brooklyn's picture, and I grin. Little bitch died calling me a slut. Then I'm surprised to look up and see the boy from District Eleven. Really, I don't give a fuck what his name is. But he's dead now, I guess. It's funny, because a lot of people are under the impression that everyone in District Eleven is African-American. That boy proved them wrong, he was as pale as snow. I almost smile at that. A slap in the face for the Capitol, I guess. But the Careers killed him, probably.

We're only on day seven of the Games, and we already have... what? How many tributes left? I think for a second, but my mind's blurry. Victor, Sage, Thor, and Lacey. And me. The wreck of a drug addict who can barely be called a tribute anymore. Or a human. So there's only five of us left. I can count all the remaining tributes on one hand. Of course, it's kind of hard to see how many fingers I'm holding up, but oh well.

Wait... the final five. There's something about the final eight that I've forgotten. Oh, yeah, the Capitol interviews your family and friends back in the districts. I guess they're interviewing Gran, since I don't have any other family, and I don't really have friends. Asking her, my grandmother, what she thinks of her drug addict granddaughter. And I'm not fucking afraid to say it. I'm not afraid to say that I've gotten addicted really fast, all because I overdosed and didn't listen to Tess. I guess the other three who are dead of the final eight were Tess, Alder, and Brooklyn.

As the anthem fades into nothing, I look up and see a silver parachute floating down to me. I grin and stand up weakly, grabbing it out of the air and opening it. A maniacal smile comes to my face when I see the contents. Another container of pills, identical to the last. There's no instructions, but then I see a note, like the first time I got a sponsor gift. All it says is: _Take for the pain. Don't get high. ~Finnick._ The 'don't' is underlined heavily. Like that's going to stop me. And it isn't. I take all the pills at once, swallowing pill after pill, almost choking. I can almost hear Finnick groaning and cursing at the television. But, what the hell? This is fun. Besides, by my calculations -which may be just a little off- the Games will be over in a day or so.

Soon enough, I feel better. No, not better. I feel better than anything I've ever felt before. And everything's like some kind of twisted paradise. Flowers made of jewels grow straight from the stone. Glitter falls like snow. I'm floating about two feet off the ground. The world's spinning in circles and bending and twisting. And I love it! I fucking love it! I stand up straighter and start running like hell through the caves for no reason. Just because it's fun. Maybe I can kill some more tributes.

Yeah. Sure as hell, when I'm the victor, I'll have enough money to buy enough of these fucking wonderful drugs to last my whole damn lifetime.

I run through the caves, down the tunnels, through the shimmery water. Holy shit, I could do this forever. No, really, I could. I grin and run even faster. Is it just in my head, or am I really running as fast as I think? And, wait, why am I falling? I guess I tripped, because my face is about to hit one of the boulders on the ground. Shit, that's going to hurt like hell itself. _Okay,_ I tell myself. _Don't hit the rock, hit the water._ "All right!" I say to the voice in my head, but as soon as I get the words out, the right side of my face smashes into the rock. "Ahh!" I yell. I think I hear something snap in my face. Oh, yeah, and I sure feel it. Owww... Well, I guess I missed the water.

Then I hear a noise. Like someone's walking right next to me. Oh, shit! I roll over, off of the rock, and stand up shakily. I grin, reaching out to touch the purple fireflies that float through the blue glitter of the air. Then my fingers brush up against someone's skin, and I withdraw my hand. Oh, it's that bitch from District Eight, the one who is missing an arm and has the ugly burn scars. Lacey what-the-fuck-is-her-last-name. She looks at me for a second, and then I remember. She must know that I killed her ally... right? But even though I'm trying to raise my fucking arm and stab her with my knife, I can. I'm mesmerized by the purple lights from the fireflies as they swirl through the air and through the glitter and through the haze...

"Well?" hisses Lacey. "What's wrong with you, anyway?" She's glaring. Funny, that's not how I remember her from the interviews.

I can't stop staring at the fireflies. Pretty. Really pretty. "Pretty fireflies," I slur hazily, leaning into the wall sleepily. "Pretty," I repeat, grinning. I can't bring myself to raise the knife. "I gonna kill you, bitch. I gonna stab you right through the throat. I gonna hear your cannon fire. I gonna be the victor!" I smile even wider.

She groans. "Okay, you're high," she mutters. "All right, just stay quiet and don't kill me, okay? I'm saving your life." I don't say anything as she pauses. "The Careers are right up ahead. I figure that I've got enough time to kill one. I'm not asking to be allies, I'm just killing another Career for the rest of us. I'd say that you should, but you're not exactly in a good condition right now." I don't answer to that -was that an insult?- and just keep staring at the sparkles and the fireflies. They're so fucking beautiful. "So shut up and just watch."

She turns a corner and walks into another cave, tiptoeing. I step closer as quiet as I can, watching her. Well, I'm actually watching the fireflies, too, but oh well. She holds up the club over a sleeping Career's head. It's either Victor or Thor, because they're the only Career boys left. And the only boys left at all. I just hope she isn't going to kill Thor yet. But Victor... why do I hate him so much? Oh, yeah, he spent more than a day fucking me 'till I could barely breathe. Yeah. I hate him. I watch as the pink and blue and lavender sparkles swirl around Lacey as she raises the club, then brings it down to the boy's head. _Crack!_

And in that second, she shifts a bit, not blocking the light anymore. And I see the dying Career on the ground, his skull shattered and fluid leaking out from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. And it's not Victor. It's Thor.

That bitch just killed my district partner.

Instead of screaming, I just start laughing my head off. "Ha ha, bitch, I'm gonna kill you!" I laugh. "You look so stupid." She starts bawling like a little baby. "Aw, why you cryin', little bitch? Shut the fuck up." Thor's cannon booms. I trace my knife across her throat. "Ow, looks like that hurts. This is kinda like I killed your ally, I think." She starts crying even harder. Oh, God, that hurts my ears. I need to shut her up. So I slice deep into her throat, digging deeper and backing her up against the rock until her head and her body aren't connected anymore.

_Boom._ There goes her motherfucking cannon.

But I'm still just staring at the fireflies as all of them burst into flame. And then I start to run in the opposite direction of the Careers as fast as my legs carry me.


	22. Rebel Bitch

**Hey, people! Sorry for the lateness, I was on a weekend trip to visit some family. So... yeah, I had internet, but I was so fucking _busy, _and I had writer's block. Anyway, thanks to Sabrina Mellark and Anarchy Girl for reviewing my second Spark-gets-high-and-crazy-and-kills-someone chapter, and big thanks absentee-note for reviewing TWICE! (And to the last one mentioned: sorry, it cut out your pen name if it had a period in it.) You guys who reviewed and stuff are the reason that I've got this chapter out. :D Oh, yeah, and by the way, this Hunger Games is really short, sorry. I'm kind of at the climax right now, since I couldn't think of a way to draw out the Games with this type of arena. :)**

**Also, I wrote a one-shot called Addicting Victory about the female morphling, so check that out if you want. I wouldn't say anything, but it's literally gotten somewhere around 20 total views. All I can say is... this is what happens when Catching Fireflies listens to way too much Eminem songs about drugs for her own sanity.**

_Rebel Bitch_

_Run, run, run._ That's what I keep telling myself. I have no fucking idea where I'm going, but I guess I'm going somewhere. Somewhere, through all the blur and the haze and the shimmer. It's somewhere, where I'm going. I stagger along, tripping over rocks, trying not to let the fireworks everywhere distract me. I can hear the District Two tributes -what are their names? oh, yeah, Victor and Sage- chasing after me, but I'm faster. I can fly and fly and fly. Run and run and run. I'm faster than either of them. They're never going to catch up to me. I'm leaving them in the dust and the dark, and they can't catch me now.

But my heartbeat's getting too quick, and I'm getting dizzy as I run. Everything is bursting into bright-colored fire, flickering blue and black. Or maybe that last part's just me. Or maybe I'm the only one who can see everything the way that it really is, and everyone else just can't see right. Oh, well. I run even faster, panting like a tired, thirsty dog. My head pounds. Oh, God, I've lost it. Or maybe it just seems that way. I don't know what's happening to me, but I'm just going to keep running and let it happen as it comes.

I hear Sage and Victor chasing me. And they're catching up. How the hell can they catch up to me? I'm faster than a bolt of lightning now. Faster than anything. The cave walls are a blur around me, but am I moving? I'm really not sure now. Just standing here, I feel dizzy. I stumble along. _Faster, faster!_ I yell to myself. _Fuck it, you can run faster! Remember? That's why Tess is dead. Because you're an impatient bitch and couldn't stand how slow she was!_ But I can barely stand up straight. I lean up against the wall, my head spinning and the world swirling into a thousand colors.

"There she is!" yells a distorted voice that echoes through my head. _There... there... there..._ I blink. Victor. He's laughing. Wait, why do I hate them so much? I forget. Oh, yeah, it's because Sage is a bitch and Victor is a rapist and a sex addict. I stare uncomprehendingly at them as they round a corner. And now both of them are staring at me. Victor keeps laughing. "Look, Sage, she's high on pain pills, isn't she?" he guffaws, pointing at me.

Sage stares at me for a second, then smirks. "Sure as hell she is," she answers. "Shit, look at her. We really tore her up a few days ago. And what the fuck is wrong with her _eyes_?" Is it my imagination, or did Sage just almost gag? "What the hell... how can she fucking see? What kind of drug was that anyway, Rebel Bitch?"

At first, the name doesn't register, but it hits me like ice cold water. Yeah, that's what they used to call me. Hard to believe that it was only days ago. Hard to believe that only weeks ago, I was just the girl from District Four, not a tribute yet. Wait, why am I thinking about this kind of shit? I must have gotten messed up somewhere along here. "I dunno," I say, maybe a little bit louder than normally, and my voice slurs the slightest bit. "Yeah. I'm a rebel bitch and proud of it."

Victor grins, then turns to Sage. "I call killing Rebel Bitch!" he insists. "Come on, you know that I need to do this." Sage is hesitating for a second now. "All right, I guess that's over with." Victor looks right at me. Almost like he's looking through me to see exactly how much damage I've got. I shiver, my eyes darting around through the dimness. I can't run, but I'm screaming at myself to run away from all of it.

"Victor, careful," says Sage, motioning to me as he steps closer. "She's got one hell of a knife there." Victor shrugs, despite Sage's warning, and easily picks me up before I've even processed what's happened. He holds me a few inches off the ground, pressed to the wall by my torso. I struggle, but I can't get away. The whole world's burning into a thousand tongues of fire that lick at my limp body. But I'm still holding my knife. There's still blood on my hands. The air still shimmers silver-blue. And the world's still burning like a million fireflies, only the fire part is actually fire.

Victor's face is next to mine. I feel his hot breath on my face. "I'm gonna kill you this time, Rebel Bitch," he sneers. I feel the cool, sharp blade against my neck. The blade of a very thin but deadly knife. Ready to _slit my fucking throat_! I think something snaps inside of me right then, and I let out an almost inhuman groan. Victor laughs softly. "You know why I was wasting my time fucking a slut like you?" he asks. I don't answer. Despite the haze of drugs and the fury that boils inside of me, I feel my throat tighten at the memories. "Because I was _supposed_ to," he says. Sage tries to stop him from continuing, but he glares at her. "I might as well say it. Our mentors told us to torture you. To do whatever we could. And guess who told them, Rebel Bitch?" I don't bother to guess, but I have a vague feeling of dread. He fucked me up because he was told to torture me? "President Snow."

I think maybe that's when I reach breaking point. And maybe it's the same time that Victor realizes that he should have taken away my knife. I somehow get my feet back on the ground, dodging Victor's knife as it slashes down in a blur of silver. Then the whole fucking world becomes a blur of color and pain. I fall to the ground, my back slamming into the rock, my vision level with Sage's boots. One of her feet kicks out at my face, and my hands go automatically to my head before she can hit me. "Fuck you!" I splutter as Victor pulls me to my feet. "What the hell?! Motherfucking piece of shit..."

Sage is laughing as I spew profanity. But Victor's not laughing at all. Maybe that means that I'm not the only one that the fire burns, because right now I'm being devoured by the hungry flames. "Bitch," he says, spitting in my face. I wipe my face off with one swipe of my sleeve, my cuts stinging. "You really think you can kill me? I still remember the way you let me fuck you like the slut you are." His face twists into a smile. "So shut up or you'll have round two and I'll draw out every second."

Wait... round two? My brain's fuzzy from the pain pills, but I'm not stupid. I'm pretty sure that means that Victor's planning on raping me... for the fucking billionth time. Anger fills me to the point of it spilling out. And even high, I'm sane enough to know that when anger spills out of me, someone's going to fucking _die_.

And that's how I end up plunging my knife into Victor's chest. That's how I end up pulling it out and feeling his blood on my hands. That's how he can barely get out a scream of pain. That's how I hear his cannon fire. And that's how I can tally up one more death.

And that's how this is the final showdown.

Sage stares at me for a second. I stare back. Her stupid bitchy eyes... what the hell, what color are they? Or does it fucking matter? I guess not, but I've never seen anyone with pure black eyes before. "Rebel Bitch... good job," she says, grinning. It's the last thing I'm expecting her to say, and I'm actually surprised through the clouds of fire and hate. "On killing Victor, I mean," she amends. "Our mentors said to _torture_ you and _hurt you emotionally_ and _cause you pain_. Not to fuck you until you couldn't stand up straight."

I nod, but I'm confused. So fucking confused. I don't know why she's acting like this, when I'm supposed to kill her. Oh, fucking well. If we're going to have to give the Capitol a show... well, I'll make sure to keep them watching. "Get on with killing me," I say, gripping the hilt of my knife so hard that the metal chafes my skin. "Or maybe you can just let me kill you first and get this shit over with."

Sage scowls. "Yeah, you really think I'd do that, Rebel Bitch?" she says. "Oh, wait, it doesn't matter if you think it or not, 'cause you're high and you're crazy." She steps closer to me, her breath swirling around my face. Smoke is everywhere, rising from the hypnotizing black fire and out of Sage's eyes. "You know that, right? That you're crazy? To get high in the Hunger Games and act like the Capitol doesn't mean shit?"

"They don't," I say, but it's barely a whisper. My heart's pounding, and my stomach is tied in tight knots. I feel like I'm going to puke. I'm so terrified, but the drugs and the hate and the anger win out. The drugs, because I'm an addict now. The hate, because I've got a hell lot of shit to hate. And the anger. The anger at the Careers, at the Games. But most of all, it's the anger at the Capitol.

"What?" Sage asks, and her whisper is as deadly as a knife, cutting through the air straight into me. "_What_ did you just say, Rebel Bitch?"

I take a deep breath, trying hard not to just run away and collapse and let the pain pills devour my brain as I die. " I said, THEY DON'T!" I yell. The words echo through the caves, and I'm sure that it isn't just my drugged imagination working now. "They _don't_ mean shit and they aren't worth a damn!" I look around. "And to the Capitol, I can tell that you're cutting this out right now! So what the fucking hell is Panem watching right now? That bitch standing there? What the hell are you doing with me, anyway?" My voice is giving out, but I keep trying. "And it'd look fucking suspicious if you fucking Gamemakers just collapsed the ceiling on me or sent some mutts after me! Motherfuckers!" I take another breath. "So go ahead and fucking kill me, 'cause Panem isn't gonna forget me for a long time!"

A moment of silence passes. Then Sage starts laughing. "You're gonna get me killed, too, so shut up," she says. She pulls the knife out of my hand before I know what hit me, and I think it's like I'm watching all my hopes go down the drain. "I think I'll be taking this, since you won't be needing it right now." And in one second, I see the exposed flesh on her neck.

That's when I realize that I can kill without a knife. "Yeah, you're right," I say, stepping forward and shoving her to the ground as hard as I can. I sit on top of her stomach, my boots planted on her elbows, holding her arms down. I can hear the air leaving her lungs, her ribs cracking. My hands clamp around her throat. She makes a horrible gagging sound, spitting, her eyes bulging and widening. "I _don't_ need a knife to kill you."

"No..." she chokes out. "No... stop... I didn't mean it... have your fucking knife back..." And as her eyes cloud over, and the tension in her muscles relaxes, she gets out one last thing. "Rebel Bitch."

_Boom_.

One last cannon.

And now I'm the victor.

I hazily manage to roll off of Sage's body as the cave ceiling splits open and trumpets blare out. A blast of light meets my ravaged eyes, from the blood-red sky that I remember dimly from the bloodbath. Oh, shit... my mind's so fucking hazy now. I don't know where I am, or what I'm doing. I just find myself strapped down to a bed in a sterile room, and I feel like I'm flying. But my head's pounding, my heart's pumping so fast that I can see it through the thin fabric of my undershirt, and my body is weak.

But even as I black out, I know that I survived. And I was a Rebel Bitch up until the end.


	23. Stand Up Again

**Hey! Oh my gosh, I'm so close to finishing this story! But don't worry, everyone, it's going to be a trilogy, and I'm starting up the second story soon. I've got one more chapter besides this one. Oh, yeah, and this week, I'm going to be at camp with no electronics, so no writing and Eminem songs for me... two things that are awesome in my life will be gone. :'( So no updates for a week or so. Thanks to Anarchy Girl, Sabrina Mellark, and absentee-note for reviewing. Oh, and Anarchy Girl, you'll be glad to see that I went back and put in the space that I missed. :)**

_Stand Up Again_

I'm lost in some kind of fog of sedatives, but the only light that cuts through is my burning need for some more of those pain pills. I guess I'm officially an addict now, and I don't exactly give a shit if it's bad for me. I just need the drugs to get through this. I'm vaguely aware that my whole body is numb. No pain except in my addicted brain. I can't feel the hundreds of cuts that covers my body. I can't feel the cut on my face, even though it was probably infected. I can't feel anything except in my head.

And I want to scream. I want to get out of this place. I want to stand up and yell and cuss out these motherfuckers who've fucked with my life enough already.

I wake up in a pounding fury, barely able to think straight. But I can see that I'm in a room that contains nothing but the bed that I'm lying in. No, scratch that. Shit, they've still got me strapped down. There's a band around my waist keeping me from sitting up, and I start to want to run out of here now. The sheets make my naked skin tingle. There are needles and tubes coming out of both of my arms. And there aren't any doors or windows. Oh, shit, I'm trapped! I writhe, but I can barely shift my body. So I just start screaming my head off.

A team of white-clothed Capitol bastards -doctors, I guess- come into the room in a few seconds after a part of the wall slides aside for them. I'm still screaming, hardly stopping to take a breath. Not much registers, but I'm pretty sure that I hear one thing from one of the doctors. "Get her mentor," he barks. A voice like a fucking dog mutt. "Now. He'd know what's wrong with her."

Can't they see that I need some more drugs? I scream even louder, wordlessly, pain searing like fire through my whole body and making my muscles tremble. But in a few minutes, there's Finnick, standing over my bed. And all I see is Victor's leering face, grinning as he smashes me into the ground and rapes me. As he strokes my skin and laughs when I show any sign of pain. As he grins at the pain running through my body... Oh, God, I can't stand this anymore.

"What is it?" says Finnick. Yeah, I'll bet he's trying to be calm, but I can see that his face is pale from shock. And no wonder, I look like shit. "What's wrong, Spark?"

I scream in pure frustration. "I'm a fucking _drug addict_ and I like it!" I yell, straining at the straps that hold me to the bed. "Get me some fucking drugs, you motherfucking man-slut!"

As soon as I say that last part, I see Finnick's face fall. His bright, sea-green eyes fill with tears, and I see his lower lip tremble. And I've got to remind myself that he's two years younger than me. He's only fifteen. And he's probably pretty sensitive on his whole prostitution shit -okay, make that _really_ sensitive-, because he starts crying. No, literally. I'm pretty sure I'm not imagining it or hallucinating it up this time. And even all those doctors can't stop him when he runs out of the room. I hear a not-so-manly sob echo down the hallway before the portion of the wall slides shut again.

And when I try to sit up again get out of this fucking hellhole, something seeps into my blood, and I black out for the fucking thousandth time. Or at least, it seems that way.

* * *

It goes on for a while. I keep blacking out. Sometimes, there are Avoxes that come in to give me food, but I barely eat anything. I'm wasting away, half-dead with withdrawal and pain. But I still am furious inside at the Capitol, and crazed with the need for drugs. I'm vaguely aware that not much changes, but fuck that. But after what seems like a thousand years, there's no tubes or needles sticking out of my arms. I'm free. _Free. _No, wait, I'm not free. I'm never going to be free. Never again. Ever.

I stand up, almost falling out of bed. Strangely enough, instead of collapsing and giving out, my legs hold my weight. Then I see something that amazes me. You'd think, what with all the hundreds of cuts that covered my entire body, that I'd be coated in scar tissue. But I'm not. There is no trace of scarring or any injury at all, even from my days in District Four. There's no pain, except my burning ache for more drugs and emotional pain. My skin is smooth and perfect. Perfect. Well, _perfect_ can go off and fuck itself, because it's all fake. This same body that stands healed and perfect, with soft and silky brown hair that's cut choppily above my shoulders in a sort of rugged way, and with perfect skin... this same body was only days ago ravaged with pain and torture.

So it's all fake. Life is a fucking hallucinatory fog that I can't find my way out of. Life is a stupid fucking road with way too many twists and turns and bumps. So I hate it all.

There's an outfit at the foot of my bed. The same outfit that the tributes wore into the arena. Really, couldn't they be a little more creative? I guess I'm going to have to face my stylist, chaperone, and prep team soon. As well as Finnick. Oh, shit, last time I saw him, I called him a motherfucking man-slut. Great. But too soon, the wall-slash-door slides open, and I assume that I have to go out into the hallway. I step out of the room. It's funny, but I've only just noticed exactly how loosely my clothes fit on my emaciated body. I've barely got any fat left, much less curves. I wonder what my prep team will think. Ha, I bet what's-her-face got the butter-knife scar removed off her neck.

Then I see them all. Standing at the end of the hallway. Miranda Sanrough, Finnick Odair, and September. I know very well that this is being taped, but since when have I given a fuck for that? I walk almost dazedly down the hallway, not sure what to say or do. Not sure exactly how stupid I look. Not sure if I should have made it out at all.

But I remember something. They want me dead, don't they? The Capitol wanted me to die. The whole reason of me going into the Games was to kill me off without suspicion. And it's a slap in the face to them, that I pulled through, and they couldn't see an opportunity to kill me without it looking fishy. So I guess it's good that I lived through, after all.

And that's what gives me the strength -despite the pain- to smile.

They hug me and congratulate me. Miranda's squealing and even wiping away a few tears, so happy that "District Four had two victors in a row, after all!" September just congratulates me and gives me a quick embrace, but I can see that it's genuine. He's never seemed to be the hugging type. Finnick doesn't really say much, and I get the feeling that he's still pissed at me.

After a few minutes, September leads me through the hallways, away from the cameras everywhere, and to the elevator that leads to the lobby of the Training Center. Oh, shit. We're in the _Training Center_? I don't exactly have a good history of this place. And right now, I'm fidgeting and nervous, my eyes darting everywhere and looking for invisible things that aren't even there. Fuck, I need some drugs. We go up to the darkened lobby and get on the old tribute elevator, pressing the button for District Four's floor.

The prep team is there to greet me as soon as the fucking elevator doors slide open. And even though they hate me, they're the most enthusiastic of all, hugging me and shrieking about how amazing I was in the Games. None of them mention the three key things that made my Games become my Games. The endless Career tribute fucking. The drug addiction. And most of all, the final showdown with Sage. Oh, fuck, I said that the Capitol didn't mean shit... or something like that. My memory's fuzzy. But anyway, they don't mention anything rebellious that I did.

I'm taken into the dining room for a meal. Oh, fuck it, I'm not hungry at all. Even though I'm so thin that my prep team is probably going to have a heart attack when they make me strip, I don't want to eat. I just want some more pain pills so I can take every bit of pain that I feel away. So I can get lost in a world of addiction and sparkles. I sort of move my green beans around on the plate, cut up my steak, and take very small bites of a roll. I'm very aware that September and the prep team are looking at me suspiciously, but I don't care. I don't get seconds like the rest of them do either, but that's just because they don't want me puking on stage, of all things. _As if puking in front of the Capitol is the worst I've ever done,_ I think wryly for a second, but then the pain ripping through my mind comes back, and I can't think straight anymore.

We go back to my old bedroom, where the prep team is readying me for being presented in front of Panem again. They practically have to drag me into the shower, where they adjust the settings and I kick them out of the bathroom and call them perverts for watching me shower. Ha. Maybe I've still got some fire left in me. But I'm pretty terrified of myself at the moment. For one, I can count all my ribs, and I'm dangerously thin. Yeah, I'm still muscular, even more so than when I was reaped, but I'm lost in a fog of drug addiction and weakness.

The prep team dries me off themselves -perverts, I'm pretty sure that what's-his-face, the male prep team member, tried to touch me more than he should. Then they get to work on my makeup, my nails, and my hair. They're going on and on about the 'horrors' that I had to endure in the arena, and maybe they're right. The arena was full of shit, in my opinion. So I tune them out, even when they speak to me. And finally, they leave, and September comes in with a dress.

He smiles warmly and slips it over my head. It's tight on me, hugging my frame. "Don't look in the mirror just yet, I want to see the shoes on you," he says, slipping on a pair of black high heels with a sort of metallic glint to them. Then I look up, and I'm amazed. Transfixed. My dress still makes me look like the same 'Sexy Sparky' that the Careers called me, but in a more tough way. It looks as if it's made of dark silver, so dark that it is almost black or dark gray. It's short, barely covering my ass, but it's still beautiful. My makeup is black and silver, and my nails are painted the same dark silver as my dress. My hair, too short to put back, is choppy around my face. September slips a jacket on to me, and I look up again. Wow. The jacket is black and leather, matching the heels, and emphasizes the curves that I have left, tight like the dress.

"What do you think?" September asks, grinning. "I think you look wonderful, by the way."

After the shock of seeing myself look beautiful again is wearing off, I'm trembling like a leaf in the wind, shivering. "Thanks," I say slowly and quietly. "I- I can't..." I mean to say that I can't get up in front of an audience, or I'll probably faint from lack of drugs.

"Are you nervous?" September asks gently. "You've done this before."

I shake my head, leaning against the wall and ending up crashed down on my bed, face first. "I need some fucking _drugs_!" I moan into the pillow. "I feel like I'm gonna die without any!"

September somehow flips over my body, sitting down next to me and looking me in the eyes. "Look, Spark," he says tentatively. "I may be from the Capitol, and I'm not saying that I'm with the districts. But I want the best for any tributes I have, and that goes double for victors. And the best for you is to never get high again and stay away from drug addiction."

"Oh, yeah?" I fire right back. "Then if you want the best for me, do you want me fainting on stage in front of all of Panem?" All right, he's been shown up now. That was a pretty good one. I sit up, not dropping my gaze, my eyes locked furiously on his.

After a few seconds, September sighs. "All right, all right," he says. He digs one hand into his pocket and takes out a bottle of pain pills, the same kind from the arena. "But only one," he continues, shaking one out onto his palm and handing it to me. "I'm not going to have you faint in front of the nation, but I don't want you getting high again."

"All right," I say sullenly. "Thanks." I wash down the pill with a cup of water, and I start to feel a little better. Definitely not good as getting high, of course. But good enough to face Panem with a smirk and a sharp tongue. Sure, I know that this is only when we watch highlights from the Games and get crowned as victors, but I can't look stupid. I take a deep breath.

We go back to the level where the tributes trained. That is, except for me, since I didn't train there. It's a tradition for the victor and the team to rise up from under the stage, just like when we went into the arena. The area under the stage is lit badly, dim and yellowish. The prep team rejoins us, along with September, and they leave to change into their clothes. I'm standing alone on a metal plate in this fucking stupid room. I can hear the crowd already.

And I'm terrified. Really. I'm not going to lie. I'm actually nervous. What will they show, anyway? They can't exactly show me getting raped again. Or me getting high. Man, I don't even want to know what I looked like then. Or me yelling anti-Capitol shit in front of the whole nation. I guess they'll show Tess dying, and all of my... what? How many people did I kill, anyway? Eight? Yeah, I had eight kills. Holy shit, a third of the tributes died because of me. And I just want to go home and use my victor money to by enough pain pills to overdose and kill myself.

But as I hear the prep team rising up to the stage, and Caesar Flickerman greeting the audience happily, I remember that I can't fall. I've got to stand up again. I've got to show the districts that we need rebellion. And I've got to get out of this alive just so I can kill myself in peace when I get back home.


	24. Deja Vu

**Hey, everyone! I'm back from camp now, so I can finally finish this story! Yep, I said ****_finish. _****This is the last chapter, everyone! I'm so excited that I made it this far. Also, thanks to mangesboy01 and daydreamer626 for reviewing. And thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, or followed, and thanks again to Ruby Salamander for putting this in her community, The OCs of Panem. All of this really means a lot to me. Look for the sequel to this soon! I've got a few ideas for the title, but I don't know which to use. If you've got any suggestions, feel free to PM me.**

**Also, the chapter title comes from three things: the fact that I've written so much of this story, _another_ interview with Caesar Flickerman, and the way that my recent chapters remind me of the song Deja Vu by Eminem. :)**

_Deja Vu_

They're applauding and cheering for my prep team first. Then they introduce Miranda, who is probably half delirious with excitement of having another victor from District Four. September's appearances is met by a huge round of cheering and clapping, since he's done wonderfully. I keep remembering what he says about being neutral to the rebellion, but wanting the best for his tributes and victors. Ha. That's fucking ironic, since I've ended up the way I am now. Then Finnick comes up to the stage, and there's a lot of applause and whistling, especially from the Capitol women. And then I feel the metal plate lifting me up to the stage. Out in the open with my hidden panic and sweaty palms. And I'm like a target that everyone waits to throw their shit at.

I force a smile onto my face, trying not to make it look too fake even though it is. After what seems like at least five minutes of somewhat strained applause, I sit down in the victor's chair, an ornately carved seat where I'm supposed to watch my Games from. Shit. I feel like I'm going to puke now. I mean, the show's only three hours long, and the first half an hour or so is always the pre-arena material, but my Games were actually short. Only around a week long. So they'll have to show a lot. Caesar's getting the audience excited, but I can see the nervous glances that they give me out of the corners of their eyes.

But... oh, fuck, I feel like falling out of this damn chair and puking my guts out on the ground.

The lights dim, and the seal of the Capitol appears on the screen. I wipe my hands on my dress, clenching them into fists, my head pounding. Whoever put this shit together must be a sick Capitol pervert, since there's a cheery, upbeat song playing as background music for the reapings, chariot rides, training scores, and interviews. Oh, shit, I looked like a slut on the chariot, but oh fucking well, that's the past. And in the interviews, I sound so fucking badass that I'm silently cheering my video self on.

Then comes the arena. The bloodbath coverage is extremely detailed, especially the District Three girl and her pearls, and Silver getting blown sky-high by my land mine. After I almost get choked to death by Victory, they zoom in to the cut on my face, then my eyes as I go down into the caves. It shows some quick shots of the tributes who survived the bloodbath, especially the Career pack. At the sight of them onscreen, I feel my stomach lurch. Then comes the scariest part so far, at least it is to me. The little girl from District Six. The... the morphling addict. Fuck, is that what I'll become? Better? Worse? Then the camera zooms in on the mutt tearing her up as she screams for her mommy. And me yelling at her, and then I'm pinned to the ground by the dog mutt. Then there's a gory shot of my neck getting bitten. Then the mutts coming, and me slitting the girl's throat. After that, there's a disgusting shot of me fainting into the water.

It shows me waking up after the screen fades for a few seconds. Then I start choking, and then I get the parachute with some medicine. It shows me hacking up blood for a few seconds, which almost brings the little that I ate back up again. Then there I am, crawling through tunnels, and there's the Careers. It shows the little exchange between us before the rape, and then... shit. The people who put this together are twisted. It shows most of the repeating rape, blurring out parts of our bodies that could use the blurring. It skips most of the night, since it's basically more rape. Then they cut me up to pieces. I'm lying in a pool of blood. Then it shows me bargaining with Victor, and sewing myself up again. I look like a freak, but I don't care.

It's the fucking past now, isn't it?

Then I'm killing Vibrance, yelling, and running like the devil himself is chasing me. Then it skips a while, showing a few shots of the other tributes and the extremely pissed-off Career pack. It almost makes me smile to see Sage bitching to the other two Careers in front of all of Panem. Then, of course, Tess finds me. I get a knot in the pit of my stomach. Then there's us running, and me yelling my head off at her to keep going, and all that shit that I did. I bite my lower lip, knowing what's coming next. And it shows Alder stabbing Tess to death, and me finding her body. And then there's Alder again, kissing me. And then I stab him in the back, and I start to cry.

I know what's coming next, but I'm not quite prepared for the extremes of it. And here I am, finishing off the whole bottle of pills with shaking hands and wide eyes. There I am, staggering around and laughing at things that aren't there. And I kill Brooklyn, the girl from District Five. It's almost a little comical, me passing out, splashing down in the water hard. But it's not funny at all when I'm having a fit and screaming my face off. And then, of course, I get high again, and then Lacey comes and kills my district partner, so I kill her.

Now we're at the final showdown, and it's pretty intense. I notice that they've been bleeping out all the swearing through the whole Games. Half the shit I say is censored by now. I stab through Victor's heart, and then there's the part with Sage. Everything is hushed. Then at my anti-Capitol tirade, they just bleep out the whole thing, just showing me screaming silently at Sage and the Capitol. Especially the Capitol. Even though I'm nervous, I've got this warm feeling in my heart, like you'd feel if you were proud of someone close to you. And then I kill Sage, and the feeling fades, and so does the screen.

President Snow himself takes the stage, with some little bitch behind him carrying my victor's crown on a cushion. My heart speeds up as President Snow places it on my head. And I can see his eyes, hating and wanting revenge. _But that's just some rebellious shit that I said while I was high... and I love it!_ I think. _Well, I mean, I love getting high _and_ what I said._

And after that, the night is a blur of Capitol people and autographs and handshakes and pictures and me just wanting to lay down and die.

* * *

The next day, I wake up feeling like shit itself. My head's pounding, and I need drugs so fucking bad. So I climb out of bed, put on some clothes, and raid the medicine cabinet in my bathroom for pills. I honestly don't care much about what I'm putting into my body, as long as it gets me high, but I especially want those same pills from the arena. After digging through the whole thing, I find them. This time, the bottle is labeled: _morphling pills. Take one a day for pain. Side affects include nausea and sleeplessness. Overdose is almost always fatal if you take more than sixty pills within ten minutes._ I almost laugh. Morphling. I've heard of liquid morphling, but only merchants can afford it. I guess the pills are cheaper. And this pill bottle is huge. It probably holds hundreds. I sit on the counter by the sink, my legs bare and dangling over, and I dump a handful of pills into my hand, clapping the hand to my mouth and swallowing hard. The pills scrape my throat, and I drink some water straight from the tap.

Then I hear my prep team opening the door, and I jump down from the counter, shoving the pill bottle back into the cabinet. The team walks in, and their eyes all flit to the open medicine cabinet, with pill bottles strewn all over the counter. But they don't say anything. That's good, because I'm getting this wonderful rush, and I love the way that the world spins. They're all over me, doing my makeup and brushing my hair to silky perfection, dragging me into the shower again. A few hours later, I'm full-out high. I just try to keep my mouth shut and to ignore every fucked-up thing that I see.

Finally, September comes in, dressing me in a beautiful gray-blue dress that almost looks like rain and brings out my eyes. From one look at me, he can see that something's wrong. By looking at the open cabinet and the pill bottles, he easily puts two and two together. "You got high, didn't you?" he asks, but it's not really a question. I nod after a second, my vision blurry. He sighs. "Just try to act normal in the interview, okay?" I nod again dully.

The interview's going to be in the small sitting room just down the hall, with no live audience this time. There's a few cameras and Caesar Flickerman, but otherwise I'm alone. He shakes my hand. "How are you doing, Spark?" he asks kindly with a smile. I barely whisper the word _fine_. "Oh, don't be nervous, this is going to be fun," Caesar assures me.

But all I can think of is Vibrance saying something in her interview, how the arena was going to be so fun. And I feel sick.

I sit down, and as soon as I'm ready, I'm broadcast to all of Panem. Caesar greets me with a smile, then asks me the first question. "So, Spark, how do you feel about winning the Hunger Games?" he asks. "Although I'm sure that you wanted to win."

I swallow hard. "I expected to win in the first place as soon as I was reaped," I say, managing a smile that hopefully doesn't look too false.

Caesar laughs, and from then on, it's not so bad. I try not to sound weak, and I've got my usual badass flare, but it's not exactly rocket science to tell that I'm high. My eyes keep flicking around the room, and my hands are clenched into tight fists, my perfectly painted fingernails digging into my sweaty palms. I still sound tough, I guess, because I made it through. But there's something missing, and even I can tell that. Maybe it's because it's too hard to ignore the world spinning and blurring into rainbows of colors and sparkling like a thousand jewels.

But at the end of the interviews, my head's getting heavy. I start getting surly and hostile, snarling at Caesar Flickerman to the point where he looks worried. I'm about to stand up and hit him or something. I'm so fucking tired of all of this shit that they pull me through, all these stupid pointless questions. I feel like I'm either going to kill someone or I'm going to break down crying and black out.

Caesar notices and tries to wrap it up a minute or so early. "Well, I think that's all," he says with a winning smile at the cameras. "Thanks for coming, Spark." Suddenly, I'm filled with fury. I didn't have a choice. I had to come. He knows that. And I'm high. I'm fucking high on morphling pills, and I love it. And I just want to go home and die.

I stand up all of a sudden, swaying a little. "It's not like I had a fucking choice!" I yell, and then the world turns blurry. It's starting to fade away, and I think I'm going to fall. Dizzy. So... fucking... dizzy.

I wake up in my room, lying on the bed. It feels like only minutes have passed, and I'm alone. I assume that I've got to go to the train. I don't want to get up, but I stagger to the bathroom and change into more comfortable clothes, shoving handfuls of morphling pills into my pockets and stuffing pill bottles in my boots. As soon as I open the door, I'm taken down the elevator by Finnick, and he doesn't say a word to me. We go into a car with tinted windows and drive to the train station, where the train is waiting to take me back to District Four.

_Home._ I've got mixed feelings about home. I just want to see the ocean again, and my grandmother, and Jake Paylor. But as soon as those things are done, I'm going to go up to my bedroom, shut the door, and get myself so high by overdosing on pills that I just die. No one would really give a shit. I mean, the Capitol couldn't touch me if I killed myself. And the rebellion would spark up anyway. A martyr would be perfect fuel for the flames, to prove what the Capitol is doing to us here in the districts. I stare out the window as the train begins to move, thinking to myself. I should. I really should.

The hours pass. I stay in my room, not eating much, continually taking more morphling pills, getting so high that I feel like my whole body's going to explode. And I forget who I am. Am I the tough rebel's daughter from District Four? Am I the killing machine? Am I the crying, torn-up tribute who got violently raped in the arena? Am I the girl who passed out drunk on the train? Am I the crazy drug addict rebel? I'm going to just go with that last one.

I never see anyone and barely sleep, but then Finnick's opening the door, telling me that I've got a few minutes before the train pulls into District Four. I barely can nod, I'm so drugged. My head's spinning, and I manage to get to my feet. Just as the train stops, I watch out the window as District Four appears. The sea, the sand, the salt. I bite my lip. Why not just die now? I'm sick of life. I can't stand it anymore. I don't feel like much matters anymore except the fall of the Capitol.

_Because I'm tired of pretending to give a fuck, and because the Capitol doesn't mean shit to me._

And as the doors to the train slide open and everyone outside cheers, I dump the rest of my morphling pills into my hand, put it to my mouth, and swallow, waiting for the haze to overtake me and for the people of my district to find me dead of a drug overdose. Because the rebellion needs someone to fight for, and the best ones are always the martyrs. And because I'm fucking sick of living through this shit that the Capitol put me through.

**Well, goodbye, everyone! I'll have the sequel up soon. Thank you so much for reading this story!**


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